


All Men Will Have Their Reward

by pushingcrazies



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, Everyone is Dead, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 06:38:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 50,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushingcrazies/pseuds/pushingcrazies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Javert wakes from death to find himself in Heaven, he thinks his existence from here on out will be simple and straightforward.  He couldn't be more wrong.  They say the Lord works in mysterious ways, but surely even He couldn't be as devious as to throw these two disparate souls together again and again...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Green

Javert smells flowers.

 

It would not seem so strange except that Javert, to the best of his recollection, should not be smelling anything.  Death does that to you.

 

And yet, with every breath (breath!  He can hardly believe it), a new scent assaults his nose.  Roses, hyacinths, peonies, sage, rosemary, other, more exotic scents that he cannot identify...they all mix with a heady, animal smell of nature at its most primal.  But no human smells, no unwashed bodies or rotting teeth or human waste haphazardly discarded.  No illness or infection, the unmistakable stench of gangrene or halitosis or loose bowels that might result from any number of diseases or unhealthy living.  His stomach churns just imagining those smells that he lived with his entire life.  He had learned how to block them out in life, but here, where the air is so pure and untainted, the mere idea of human scents revolts him.

 

He takes one deep, steadying breath and opens his eyes.  This must surely be Hell, he decides, for there was no way God's Heaven could be this untidy.  He appears to be in some sort of garden, but he only assumes this because there is a cottage in the distance.  The landscape is so overrun with snarled and unkempt plants that Javert feels he must have been somehow transported to the New World.  No civilized person could live like this.

 

He is lying on his back amidst the foliage, yet when he sits up the dirt does not cling to his clothes.  He wears a simple, billowy shirt, soft linen breeches, and a pair of flexible leather boots.  No extra ornaments adorn his clothes.  There are no scars or marks of his previous life, no residual pain from his sudden exit therefrom.  He can practically feel the youth in his veins; a hand on his cheek confirms that there are barely any whiskers there.  He suspects that the ones that are there are a dark shade of blond, not the scratchy grey he had at the end of his life.  A dandelion is growing directly next to his left hand.  Without thinking, Javert plucks it from the earth, careful to pull all the roots out with it so it can't come back.  A feeling of deep contentment settles in his chest and he knows - _knows_ \- what he is meant to do here.

 

He stands erect, brushing imaginary dirt from his backside.  No time like the present to start.  He clears away a more or less flat area in one corner of the garden and drops the dandelion's remains there.  Surveying the land, he realises it would be futile to make any detailed plan of attack; the sheer amount of work to be done is nearly overwhelming, so he starts in that one corner and works steadily for a couple hours, weeding, clearing, unearthing, and replanting.  At one point he spots a small shed nearby and finds inside a wide variety of gardening tools: shears, spades, shovels, even little packets of seeds neatly labelled for when he is ready to cultivate his own favourite plants.  There are small pots as well, so he fills a couple of them with dirt and starts some of the more fragile ones that will need extra care before they are ready to be planted in the ground to fend for themselves.  He wonders briefly about weather patterns and seasons, but a niggling thought tells him he won't have any problems with those.

  
    Delighted with the discoveries within the shed, he decides to explore the cottage and the extents of the land.  The cottage looks small, the bare minimum for one, maybe two people to get by.  Inside, however, is a whole different story.  There are three large rooms: a sitting room/kitchen complete with a large hearth and oven, a bedroom perfectly situated and neat, and - the piéce de résistence, in Javert’s opinion - a plain room lined floor to ceiling with shelves, more than half of which are stuffed full of books.  There is an overstuffed chair and a soft-looking sofa facing each other over a low table in the center of the room and two large, decorative windows to let natural light in, but other than that there is no decoration.  The books are all uniformly bound in soft leather.  A cursory glance at the covers reveals that they are mostly about gardening and growing plants from all over the world.  A few teach herbal remedies for various ailments, although Javert cannot fathom why he would need those.  
  
    The kitchen is also a wonder of convenience.  There is a pantry stocked with preserved fruits, vegetables, herbs, roots, nuts, and seeds.  Next to it is a larder with several slabs of meat along with some milk, cheese, and other perishables.  The dining table is covered with a neat cloth and surrounded by four chairs, which both annoys and amuses Javert.  The sitting area contains a few pieces of simple furniture, but this is obviously a section of the house that does not expect a lot of use.  
  
    Back outside, Javert heads for the hedge that appears to border the entire property.  He picks a direction and starts walking; it turns out to be a large property, every inch of which is in disrepair.  Javert hears the scufflings of small animals burrowing in the detritus and remembers there was a book or two on hunting and the art of snares.  There is a pond chock full of fish, reptiles, and water plants.  A bit further on, the hedge stops at the edge of a deep, luscious woodland.  Javert skirts around it for the time being, and on the other side of the wood the hedge picks back up and continues around until Javert returns to where he started.  Along the whole perimeter there is only one small gate, half concealed by the surrounding foliage.  A person would have to be really looking for it in order to see it.  
  
    Content with his findings, Javert stands proudly in the doorway of the cottage, looking out at his surroundings.  It is a good place, or at least it will be once he whips it into shape.  For now, though, the sun is setting so he heads inside to prepare a sparse meal and read until he nods off on the soft sofa.  
  
\--  
  
    The days take on a routine: Javert rises with the sun, fixes himself some tea, and then starts to work on the garden.  The first two days he spends creating a plan of attack, dividing the area into sections to work on, bit by bit.  At midday he breaks for a quick meal from the larder, then goes back to work.  When the sun begins to set, or he starts to feel hungry, he retires for the night.  He is usually more lenient with himself in the evenings, putting together a hefty meal and heating water for a bath.  There is a claw-footed bathtub that he sets up in the sitting area portion of the house.  Within the first couple of times he uses it, he discovers that the hot water does not cool down until he wishes it to, so the next day he starts a new routine of drawing the bath during his midday meal, when he still has energy to spare, and leaving it to sit until he is ready for it in the evening.  There is nothing quite as blissful as sinking into the hot water at the end of the day, and sometimes he even allows himself the guilty pleasure of reading or eating in the tub.  
  
    After he has towelled off, he takes his customary seat in the book room, sometimes bringing warm milk or chamomile tea with him, and reads until he feels tired, at which point he goes to bed.  He washes clothes and dishes as needed, and anything he wants for that he cannot produce himself, he will usually find in a cupboard or drawer, even if he has never seen it there before.  He begins setting snares and crafting himself a longbow for hunting, although he has not used a bow ever in his life.  He teaches himself from books and from trial and error.  He clears a large enough patch of the garden that he can begin growing his own vegetables and a few potatoes.  On rainy days (a blessing and a curse) he takes shelter in his book room or does some of the few household chores he tends to forget about.  
  
    He relearns himself, his mind, his habits, his body.  Especially his body.  Things do not work here like they do on Earth; no matter how hard he works, he never sweats, and he can accidentally stab himself with a knife or spade and will barely feel it, let alone bleed.  The dead have no use for blood, he understands.  He still occasionally has carnal urges, though he restrains himself from acting out the impulses.  The idea of handling himself in life had filled him with revulsion - to do so here in the Lord’s Heaven does not even bear thinking about.  And yet, even though his genitals are still functional, he never has need of an outhouse, in spite of the large amounts of food he eats.  
  
    It is such a peaceful, simple existence that Javert falls into a sense of complacency.  No one can find him here, he thinks.  No one can hound him or haunt him, no one demands anything of him but his steady determination and work ethic.  For the first time since he came squalling from his mother’s womb, he is at peace.  
  
    Until, that is, the day he is struggling with a particularly adamant squash plant.  He has to be extra careful of the roots, since he does not want to destroy the plant, but rather wishes to relocate it to an area with more organic matter.  He has just managed to extract the last of the roots when a large shadow falls across him and he looks up into the grinning face of none other than Jean Valjean.


	2. Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of changes: one, I've decided to post all the vignettes in one, multi-chapter format, rather than a series of independent drabbles; two, I changed the title of the series. Everything else remains the same. Enjoy!

Javert struggles to find the right words to say.  His mind is a turmoil of _you can’t be here how did you find me this really must be Hell_.  Valjean’s grin widens at Javert’s dumbstruck face.  
  
“Good morning, Inspector Javert,” he says, the very epitome of gentlemanly manners.  Javert wants to spit in his face.  
  
“How did you get here?” he hisses.  He doesn’t specify if he means here, the garden, or here, Heaven.  In the end, it doesn’t matter.  
  
Valjean kneels down next to him.  “I picked a path and followed it.  Somehow it brought me here.”  
  
Javert does not know what to say to that, so he cradles the plant in his arms and stands up.  He feels better now that he is the one towering over Valjean.  “I suggest you keep walking, then.”  
  
Valjean actually has the audacity to laugh.  “I thought you should be glad to see me, Inspector.  You always seemed so keen to keep me close by in life.”  
  
Javert snorts and carries the squash plant to the hole he dug earlier.  Valjean follows him, for all the world like a puppy tumbling after his master.  “If only I could get you to heel back then half so well as I apparently can now.”  
  
“Where is the thrill of the chase if the quarry is so obedient?” Valjean returns.  
  
Javert places the plant into its new home, fussing over it more than necessary to make sure it is exactly how he wants it.  “It was never about ‘the thrill of the chase,’ 24601, and you know it.  It was about bringing you to justice.  
  
“I think justice was served in the end,” Valjean says, ignoring the use of his prisoner number.  
  
Javert’s hand automatically reaches up to rub his neck, smearing dirt across it.  Surely Valjean does not mean...no, there is no way he could know.  Javert takes his hand away from his neck, wincing at the mess he has made.  Valjean does not notice his discomfort, or else he ignores it and reaches out to play with the leaves of a nearby tomato plant.  “Don’t touch that,” Javert snaps, regaining his composure.  
  
Valjean obeys, much to Javert’s delight and consternation both.  Instead of grinning at Javert like a moron, though, Valjean’s face sobers and he studies the man before him thoughtfully.  Javert is just about to snap again when Valjean says quietly, “You look different, Inspector.”  
  
Javert’s hand reaches up again, this time to fiddle with the ends of his hair.  “I used to wear it this long when I was younger.  Well before I was ever a prison guard.”  
  
“No, I -” Valjean laughs.  “Yes, your hair is longer but I was referring to...” He gestures vaguely at Javert.  “Your whole countenance, I suppose.  You carry yourself differently.”  
  
Javert finishes patting down the earth around the squash plant and stands up.  He purposely draws his hands behind his back and stands with ramrod straight posture, his muscles automatically falling into place as he imitates the stance he perfected for years.  “Do I?”  
  
Valjean, however, is not easily flustered.  “You do,” he says.  “You seem more relaxed...when you’d not trying to show off for me, that is.  I watched you working before I entered.  You seemed almost...happy.  Younger, in more than just physical appearance.  Your whole soul is more youthful.”  
  
Valjean, too, looks younger than he did when last Javert saw him.  He looks to be in the prime of his life, around the time Javert knew him as Monsieur Madeleine.  Javert can see what Valjean means about the soul appearing more youthful; in life, both men had too many cares and worries weighing them down.  Javert remembers the countless evenings when he would report to Maire Madeleine and the man seemed to grow old before his eyes.  In the same way, Javert would sometimes look in a mirror and not be able to recognise the old man staring back at him.  
  
Now, however, both men are the very essence of youth, quite literally.  Before Javert can make any comment, withering or otherwise, he spots something that distracts him.  There is a woman standing on the other side of his hedge, gazing idly around her.  Her eyes never seem to fall directly on the two men, however.  She is young, pretty in a vague, dreamy way.  She looks familiar.  “Who is that?”  
  
Valjean follows his gaze.  “That is Fantine.  Cosette’s mother.”  
  
Javert remembers now.  The whore, the one who attacked a man and Valjean interfered in her apprehension.  “What is she doing here?”  
  
“She came with me.  She has been something of a guide to me in the afterlife, showing me how things work and why things are the way they are,” Valjean says.  
  
“Why does she not come in?  You seem to have no problem intruding where you are not wanted.  Could it be that a whore has more manners than an upstanding citizen such as yourself, Monsieur le maire?” Javert sneers.  
  
Valjean looks surprised rather than offended.  “She cannot see this place.”  
  
Bending down to retrieve his tools, Javert snorts.  “How can she not see what is right in front of her face?”  Arms overloaded, he nearly drops a spade, but Valjean catches it, with his lightning-fast reflexes.  
  
Valjean frowns.  “No one has told you how things operate around here.”  It is not a question.  “You have been all alone this whole time.”  
  
“I prefer to be alone, thank you,” Javert says curtly.  He takes his load to the tool shed and begins putting each one back in their proper place.  Valjean stands by his side, holding the spade until he is ready for it.  
  
“Yes, I suppose you do.”  Valjean sighs.  “It’s not such a bad thing, for some.  But how can you know what is going on if there is no one to guide you?”  
  
“If it works, it works.  If it doesn’t, it doesn’t.  What more do I need to know?”  
  
Valjean shakes his head.  “What you have apparently not worked out for yourself is that upon arrival, each soul is given his own, private area of Heaven.  Well, some are private.  Others are shared by families or friends.  Those boys who were murdered, the revolutionaries, they have a shared patch of Heaven.”  
  
Javert scoffs.  “I despair to think what it must look like.”  
  
“A massive barricade attached to a cafe,” Valjean says.  “A place they all agree brought them nothing but happiness and hope, even in the end.  But that is beside the point.  The soul or souls who inhabit a particular space may say who can or cannot enter, even if it is not on a conscious level.”  
  
That part takes a moment to sink in.  “So on some level in my heart I have decided that no person may enter my garden...except you?”  
  
“Well, I don’t know about no person; I only know that when Fantine and I approached, I was able to see you working but she saw only a solid hedge about ten feet tall.  She and I were both surprised when we learned of our differing views,” Valjean says.  
  
Javert frowns, concentrating.  If Valjean could get in here, then it must be possible somewhere inside of him to allow others.  A small corner of Javert’s brain supplies the converse reality: that if he tries hard enough he could banish Valjean as well, but it is a very small part and one he does not pay attention to.  He tells himself it is no use alienating his only contact he has had in a very long time, and does not dwell on the idea that maybe - just maybe - he wants to keep Valjean around for at least a little while.  
  
There it is, he feels.  There in his heart, a hard little knot that he concentrates on loosening.  Not a lot, but just enough that the girl (he keeps his eyes focused on her so that he can make sure it is only her who will be permitted to enter; he doesn’t want to be overrun with curious neighbours or random passersby if they exist here) suddenly whips her head around, surprised, and stares right into his eyes.  A smile lights up her face and for a moment she is almost beautiful.  
  
In spite of the fact that she can now see into the garden, she cannot find the gate; Javert had been right about the overgrown foliage hiding it.  With a great will of effort, Javert goes to the hedge and unlatches the gate for her.  As she passes through, her eyes automatically look at the ground respectfully, and in that gesture Javert sees a little of the woman he met ever so briefly.  She had a hard time looking anyone in the eye, he remembers.  Her head was also all but bare, but now she has long, luscious brown locks that fall delicately over her eyes.  She is also curvier than she had been in life, a layer of fat protecting her where before she had been nothing but skin and bones.  Javert felt no pity for her then and he feels no pity for her now, only perplexity that a whore could ever end up in Heaven.  Or a thief, for that matter, but Valjean did always like to play the brave hero, always rushing around snatching little girls out of the woods or lifting carts off trapped men.  He supposes that acts like those could, theoretically, put even a man like 24601 in the Lord’s good graces.  
  
“Hello, Inspector,” the woman says tremulously.  Her eyes shift around until they land on Valjean’s, and she seems to gain confidence from his gaze because now she is able to look at Javert.  “How do you do?”  
  
“Just fine.  Thank you, Madame,” he says.  He is stiff and uncomfortable, and it shows in his voice.  
  
The woman - Fantine, he must try to refer to her as Fantine - looks around, notes the plants Javert has managed to tame more or less, then takes in the disorder of the rest of the garden.  “This place is wonderful.”  
  
“It will be,” he agrees.  “It will take a while, but I will get there eventually.”  
  
“I never realised you enjoyed gardening,” Valjean says.  He reaches for the leaves of the tomato plant again, and Javert has to restrain himself from slapping Valjean’s hand away.  “You never spoke of it in Montreuil-sur-Mer.”  
  
Javert glares at him.  How dare he bring up that place and make it sound like they had been old chums instead of what they really were - a con and an unwitting dupe?  “I have never tended a garden before in my life,” he says coolly.  “The house came supplied with instruction books, and the rest is common sense and trial-and-error.”  
  
Fantine takes Valjean’s hand, much to Javert’s unwilling gratefulness.  Tomato plants can be quite delicate, he is discovering, and he is worried too much manhandling from an ape like Valjean would kill this one.  If Valjean realises Fantine is running interference, he does not seem to show it as he laces his fingers with hers and admires the plants  without touching them.  They make the perfect pair, Javert decides: two souls corrupt in life that somehow received God’s blessing in the afterlife.  His guts twist a little at the thought.  
  
Fantine is saying something, commenting on the beautiful blooms of a plant Javert means to eradicate soon because it’s taking up too much space.  “How is the child?” he interrupts before he is even fully aware he was wondering in the first place.  
  
Fantine falters, confused, and even Valjean looks a little befuddled.  “Cosette, you mean?” he asks.  Javert nods brusquely.  “She is well, thank you.  She got married and is adjusting to being a wife.  She blossoms more and more every day.”  
  
The parents wear identical soppy grins that make Javert regret asking.  “Good,” he says gruffly.  “That is...good.”  
  
“It is kind of you to ask after her, Inspector,” Fantine says.  She speaks to him as though he is a wayward child in need of coddling and extra affection to bring him to hand.  She reaches out to him - to touch his arm, to clasp his hand, he does not know - and Javert discovers that this is his snapping point.  The thing inside him that he had been struggling to keep open for this woman’s sake (Valjean’s sake) snaps shut and suddenly she is on the far side of the hedge, looking bewildered.  
  
Valjean is torn between confusion and outrage.  “Why did you do that?  What wrong has she committed against you that you would just push her away like that?”  
  
Javert cannot answer; he is short of breath and nearly choking with each lungful.  
  
Valjean relents, but only just barely.  He is still angry, and it shows in the way his voice trembles as he heads for the gate.  “I will be back,” he says.  
  
Javert does not know if that is a threat or a promise.


	3. Strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thoroughly depressed about how short the chapters are so far, but this series is more like snippets from the afterlife (hence the original title being "Conversations from the Afterlife") so...yeah length should not be an issue. In fact, there is one chapter that will be less than ten words long (but shhh no spoilers).

Javert spends the next day constantly looking over his shoulder for a face that does not appear.  He is distracted and jumpy, and it makes him angry at himself.  He forgets to do little things, like drawing extra water for the peas and cabbage or putting his book away when he has finished reading for the night.  He sleeps fitfully.  For the first time since death he dreams, and they are haunting, horrifying nightmares.  He does not awake bathed in sweat as he would in life, but there are tears in his eyes and he feels somehow the sensation of being too hot, if not the actual physicality of it.  
  
He climbs out of bed, puts on his dressing gown, and goes outside.  The nighttime air is refreshing and calming, full of the sounds of nature at work.  Nocturnal creatures call out to one another, the wind rustles the leaves of nearby trees.  The stars shine down from the sky, but Javert can take no comfort from them, not tonight.  He is unnerved by what he has learned from Valjean, that Heaven is what a soul makes it.  There is no uniformity.  If he were to step out of his property right now, it could possibly no longer be night.  As for the stars themselves...he, Javert, created them.  These are not the real stars that shine down on Earth itself, they are a figment of Javert’s desires.  They are in their rightful places only because he put them there.  
  
He shivers.  
  
He is not sure how long he stays outside in the cool wind before he feels it - a sort of irritating itching inside his mind.  He rubs the back of his neck, even though he knows it won’t help.  By the time Valjean enters the garden, Javert is irritable and uncomfortable, more liable to pick a fight than act coldly until he leaves.  Valjean, for his part, looks around at the night sky with mild surprise, though he does not say anything.  Which, of course, only exacerbates Javert’s irritation.  
  
“I suppose night and day is a concept lost on most in the afterlife?” he snaps when Valjean finally meets his eye.  
  
“Many souls appreciate the ability to have eternal sunshine, yes,” Valjean agrees placidly, “but where would our Javert be without the stars to guide him?”  
  
Javert bristles at both his use of the possessive pronoun and the reminder that Inspector Javert once upon a time confided regularly in Maire Madeleine.  Adding to the insult is the fact that Valjean remembers the details of what Javert used to confide in him about.  “I will make you a deal, 24601,” he says.  
  
“A deal with a convict?  Perhaps Heaven is changing you after all, Inspector,” Valjean laughs.  
  
With that, Javert reaches his breaking point.  “Why are you like this?” he bursts out.  “Quip after quip, jibe after jibe after tease.  As Maire, you were a serious man I could respect; now you are as an oversized puppy with no discipline, acting the clown for laughs.”  
  
Valjean’s face sobers and for a moment Javert sees the man he used to know.  It is awful how comforting he finds it.  They stand in silence for several long moments while Valjean gazes out into the distance, perhaps thinking up an answer, perhaps not.  Javert realises it has grown even cooler, although Valjean does not say anything and does not appear to be cold.  At last, Javert relents.  He kicks open his front door and gestures inside.  “Might as well come in,” he grunts.  
  
If Valjean is surprised, he does not show it.  He half-bows graciously at Javert as he passes him and walks into the sitting room.  For lack of anything better to do, Javert stokes up the fire and puts on the kettle for tea.  Valjean sits in one of the chairs around the kitchen table, but fortunately he is not being nosy.  He seems to be mulling over Javert’s question.  “I suppose,” he says at length, “I am finally happy.”  
  
Javert eyes him out of the corner of his eye and does not say anything.  
  
“Cosette did make me happy, of course.  But you never saw the two of us together.”  There is something almost reproachful in his voice.  “And I was constantly on guard that you may show up and ruin everything, which took away from the contentedness I felt as a father.”  
  
Javert makes a vague noise of acknowledgement.  He pours the boiling water carefully into the teapot to let the leaves steep.  Valjean pays him no heed, however; he is completely lost in his thoughts.  “You should have seen us together,” he muses.  “Perhaps it would have softened your spine a little to see real love in the world.  Your rigidity was your undoing.”  
  
“What would you know about it?” Javert says, though with less heat than he normally would.  He feels tired and old, a thousand years older than he really is.  He pours the tea into two cups and very pointedly does not offer Valjean any sugar or milk.  
  
Valjean sips his tea and does not answer.  They are silent for several minutes, but it isn’t uncomfortable.  In fact, it is almost the opposite.  Valjean quietly observes his surroundings while Javert quietly observes him.  He sees the things Valjean’s eyes only glance at (the kitchen tools, the windows), and the things they linger over (the bare walls, the tub in the middle of the sitting area, the mussed covers on his bed that are just visible from where they sit).  In the months that Javert has been here, he has not had much cause to decorate his home with anything other than books and a few herbs and flowers he dries for preservation.  Secretly, he is glad that the door to the book room is closed and Valjean cannot go snooping in there; it’s Javert’s greatest treasure and he is loath to share it, at least for the time being.   
  


Valjean’s eyes turn to Javert’s at last.  “What was the deal you wished to strike with me, Inspector?” he asks.

  
Javert pauses a moment before he recalls what Javert is talking about.  “Oh.  Yes.  I think it would be best for all if you pretend your time in Montreuil-sur-Mer never happened.  At least while in my presence.”  
  
Valjean frowns.  “In other words, you wish me to forget you ever spoke with me on a personal level.  As equals.”  Although they both know that was not the case at all.  Valjean had been more than Javert’s equal, he had been his superior.  And even if Valjean had been more lax than most people, Javert had insisted on treating him as his station demanded.  “And in return, you will...?”  
  
“I will tolerate your presence here if you so desire.  And your wh-...your friend’s presence as well.  Fantine.”  
  
Valjean nods thoughtfully.  “A counter-proposal,” he says after a moment or two.  “We start afresh.  None of us knows anything about the other.  You are not an inspector, I am not 24601, Fantine is not a whore.  We are simply people who briefly touched each other’s lives and now are getting to know each other in death.”  
  
Javert hesitates.  “It is a good proposal, Valjean, but one I doubt I could easily adhere to.”  
  
“Then I will have to watch your every step carefully to see that you do not falter,” Valjean says, the teasing note returning to his tone.  
  
The idea of having someone to answer to again, of being held accountable for his actions, even if it is to Jean Valjean...it’s not such a terrible prospect.  Javert always found he flourished best under someone else’s watchful eye.  “Very well,” he says solemnly.  “I accept.”  
  
They stand, shake hands.  Javert expects Valjean to linger, but he does not.  He drinks the last bit of his tea, bids Javert goodnight, and is gone.  
  
Javert stays sitting at the table for the rest of the night, wondering what he has got himself into.


	4. Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow a new chapter after just four days? Not bad, considering I had no idea what I wanted to do with this chapter three days ago.

_5 AM - Wake up.  Breakfast (bread with butter and jam, tea).  Clean teeth.  Make bed.  Dress for the day._  
  
 _6 AM - Draw water for plants.  Peas, cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, onions need extra water; beans, lettuce, potatoes, and apple trees need less.  Get rid of any weeds, snails, slugs.  If it has already rained during the night, make sure no plants are in danger of drowning.  Assess where and how hard the rain fell; chart patterns.  If heavy rain on dry-weather plants occurs frequently, move plants to drier area.  Adjust garden map as needed._  
  
 _8 AM - Pick up where left off yesterday on clearing the garden.  Plants with no use are uprooted and taken to designated rubbish area.  Detritus also.  Plants with strong scents to attract bees and butterflies to be lined near the vegetables without interfering with their growth (and not too close to the house).  Extend controlled plants as necessary - not hurting for food, but more variety would be pleasant.  Fruit trees - good.  Berry plants - good as long as they do not overwhelm.  Blackberries, particularly out of control.  Cut back any plants as needed._  
  
 _11 AM - Check snares.  Skin and dress any catches.  Preserve any leftovers.  Consider setting up a smokehouse?  Pros/cons to be mapped out later._  
  
 _12 PM - Dinner.  Fruits with a side of potatoes or corn.  Some meat._  
  
 _1 PM - Draw and heat water for bath later.  Read while water heats.  (Add some herbs for extra cleanliness - only if available/have the time.)_  
  
 _2 PM - Return to garden.  Heat of the day, so watering plants now is useless - all water just evaporates.  Instead, make sure plants that need shade are properly shielded from sun, and those that need light are able to take in as much as possible.  Continue putting rest of garden in order._  
  
 _4 PM - Return to cottage.  Bathe.  Pay extra attention to fingernails, as they are usually encrusted with dirt.  Wash hair thoroughly.  Do not linger longer than necessary.  Dry off and dress in evening clothes._  
  
 _5 PM - Cook supper.  Generous portion of meat for strength for the next day.  Cheese.  Bread.  Potatoes or corn.  Plenty of vegetables and fruit.  Desert if available.  A generous supper is the reward for a day’s hard work._  
  
 _6 PM - Eat supper._  
  
 _6:30 PM - Retire to book room.  Read and research.  Create growth charts, maps, guides, etc. as needed._  
  
 _9 PM - Go to bed._  
  
 _All preserving of fruits, vegetables, and meats is done on Sunday, the Lord’s day.  Any baking of breads or sweets (tarts, croissants, pies) is completed then, too._  
  
 _Rainy days warrant reprieve from outside chores, although some tasks must still be completed.  Use this time for research and new ideas; draw up new maps; explore woodlands; explore boundaries.  Clean entire cottage; do household chores that have been neglected._  
  
Javert spends the next three days creating schedules and maps for Valjean’s edification.  Valjean, for his part, adjusts easily to Javert’s routines.  He arrives just as Javert is putting on his shoes, and they work together in near-silent companionship.  Javert will occasionally instruct him on some task or another that needs to be done, and then leave him on his own to complete it.  It quickly becomes clear, however, that Valjean has no talent for the finer details of garden work.  His strength, of course, is unparalleled and he can easily haul loads that Javert would otherwise struggle with, but when it comes to extracting delicate plants for relocation, he is more likely to kill them by accidentally tearing their roots or breaking their stems.  Frustrated and trying not to show it, Javert sets him less delicate tasks, like tearing out a blackberry bush that is overwhelming and killing its neighbours.  It’s a job that requires force over precision, and an ability to get right into the thick of battle without fear of thorns or spiders.  
  
After four days eradicating the entire patch of blackberry bushes, however, Valjean is once again without a purpose and the unthinkable happens - he deviates from Javert’s carefully plotted schedule.  
  
He begins by mapping the wide variety of trees that are all over the property - apples, pears, oranges, dogwood, cottonwood, maple, beech, oak, and more besides that neither of them can identify - and marking which ones Javert wishes to keep and which he is free to cut down.  Thus far, Javert has gathered his firewood from trees downed naturally, but Valjean has other ideas.  He chops up a few cords of wood in preparation for winter, and then turns his attention to other tasks, starting with the smokehouse Javert had alluded to in his original schedule.  
  
It is grueling, painstaking work - cutting down the trees, cutting them into usable boards, measuring, nailing, getting the proper dimensions.  Time after time Javert offers to help but Valjean rebuffs him kindly.  He makes it clear that this is his project - an offering, an apology (for destroying his plants, for making his life an unbearable hell, for intruding on his afterlife Javert doesn’t know and doesn’t ask), an olive branch.  Javert accepts with as much grace as he can muster, which is a rather surprising amount, he feels (Valjean begs to differ, saying Javert was always a graceful man).  
  
Valjean starts spending his nights in Javert’s cottage.  He works dawn to dusk for three solid weeks, and each night he is too exhausted to even think of leaving, so Javert offers him use of the couch in the library.  The evening routine changes so gradually that Javert doesn’t even realise it is happening until things are completely different.  Now, Javert goes in a little early each night to bathe first and start cooking while Valjean takes his turn in the tub.  No matter how much dirt Javert washes off himself, by the time Valjean is ready for his bath, the water is crystal clear again.  Javert hangs a large blanket as a makeshift partition for privacy, but there is little need for it.  Convicts, Valjean explains, have no privacy and any sense of shame must quickly be forgotten if one is to survive in prison.  Javert knows what he means - he has seen it from the other side of the same situation - but his sense of decency still causes him to avert his eyes when Valjean climbs into and out of the tub.  
  
Fantine visits occasionally.  A lot less often than Javert expected, if he is honest.  He had assumed they - Fantine and Valjean - were lovers, and as such she would miss Valjean, but although they are affectionate, they do not mention being any more intimate than great friends.  Javert, respectful to a fault, does not ask for any extra information than what he observes.  
  
She cooks for them sometimes, which is a huge weight off Javert’s shoulders.  He enjoys cooking well enough but feels it takes too much time away from his other duties.  He would much rather put that extra half hour towards work in the garden.  The best days are when Fantine banishes them from the kitchen all afternoon and when she calls them in for supper she has managed to scrounge up enough ingredients for a cake or crème brûlée or a soufflé.  She seems to have more of a knack for creating the things she needs (like eggs and flour) from nothing than either of the men.  Javert and Valjean get by well enough without her, but the days when she visits are extraordinary, and both men work extra hard for their reward.  Everything tastes better when made from her hand.  
  
Eventually Valjean finishes the smokehouse, and Javert expects that to be the end of...well, everything.  The shared house, the shared work, the quiet companionship.  He needn’t have worried - Valjean simply moves on to the next project.  He spends days cooped up in what they now refer to alternately as the study or the library, reading up on a subject he keeps secret from Javert.  At last he reemerges into the outside world and chooses a nice, flexible limb from a tree.  Javert puts aside his tools for the afternoon and just watches him as he crafts a durable, practical bow and half a dozen arrows.  The string he cobbles together from sturdy fibers twined together.  In the last dying bits of sunlight, Javert sets up a makeshift target for him, and he steadily works on his stance, shot, and aim.  The bow is unfamiliar and unwieldy in the hands of someone who is barely used to shooting so much as a gun, but he practices for the next few days until he is confident enough to make his first hunting foray into the woods.  That night they feast on venison and the smokehouse gets its first use.  
  
Every day that Valjean ventures into the woods, he brings back something, whether it is an animal he has shot, or herbs he thinks will brighten their evening meal, or else something completely unexpected.  One day he comes running for Javert, out of breath from exertion and laughter.   Javert could get no explanation from him beyond “You must come see this for yourself.”  To punish Valjean for his insolence, Javert puts his tools away as slowly as possible and then meanders into the woods with him, in no particular hurry.  It’s petty and vindictive, perhaps, but Valjean barely even seems to notice.  He happily points out all the little discoveries he has made in his daily excursions: a tree perfect for climbing to watch for deer, a patch of wild poppies, a family of squirrels who chitter loudly at them.  Finally, they come close to the spot that Valjean wants Javert to see, and Valjean takes Javert’s hand to slow him down to a snail’s pace.  They tiptoe forward, and that’s when Javert sees it straight ahead.  
  
A cow.  
  
Just...standing there.  Like she is waiting just for them.  
  
She probably is, Javert realises.  Waiting all this time for Javert to come find her and bring her home.  Javert sends a quick prayer of thanks to God for this gift and approaches the cow.  She is docile and leans eagerly into his hands, reinforcing the idea that she was put here for him to find.  
  
The mirth has left Valjean’s face as he watches the two of them interact.  It had mostly been the shock of finding a cow just standing in the woods that he found so hilarious, but now that the surprise has passed a feeling of solemnity washes over him as Javert gently rubs the cow’s neck.  She moos softly, almost a sigh, and lips delicately at Javert’s shirt.  This, Valjean recognises, is love at first sight.  This must have been what he looked like when he first approached Cosette all those years ago.  The thought brings tears to his eyes, which he quickly wipes away before Javert can see them.  It is not that he is ashamed, but he knows any show of emotion would cause Javert discomfort, especially if he were to learn the reason for it.  
  
They discuss possibilities for a makeshift lead, but in the end the cow is so enamoured with Javert that she follows him without any encouragement.  Once they get her back to the cottage, however, there is nothing to do with her.  The smokehouse is too small to house her, and there is no other shelter to be had.  Valjean quickly knocks down one wall of the smokehouse so that she can lay down in there, even if it’s not the most ideal circumstance, and sets about making plans for a cowshed.  And a chicken coup while he’s at it, though they have yet to find any wild chickens, and the cowshed is the most important thing to deal with at the moment.  This time, Valjean accepts Javert’s offers to help, partly because they need to finish this project quickly, and partly because he knows how much Javert has bonded with the cow (whom he has named Isabelle) and feels personally responsible for her safety and comfort.  They finish the shed in record time, and Valjean repairs the smokehouse back to its original condition.  
  
Fantine visits again and again, more frequently now.  Cosette, it seems, after months of trying, is finally pregnant.  Fantine is beside herself with pride and worry; the men do everything they can to allay her fears, but Javert can see the anxiety echoed in Valjean’s eyes.  Cosette has access to the best doctors in all of France, but any number of things could go wrong.  
  
In spite of their concerns, however, they find peace in each other’s company.  It is a strange sort of domesticity, and it sneaks up on Javert so quietly that when he realises what has happened, he has no will to protest.  
  
There is a word for this...this _thing_ , it dawns on him.  The thought causes him to pause one chilly morning in the middle of milking Isabelle.  
  
Home.  
  
They have created a home.  
  
It won’t last, he tells himself.  Something will happen to drive them away.  
  
He is right, of course.  But for the first time ever, he wishes he weren’t.


	5. Parents

    “...and then he said, “But Monsieur!  She has been with me the whole time!’”  
  
    Javert smiles.  It is a story he has heard several times before during his time at Montreuil-sur-Mer.  The infamous story of how the inept baker misplaced a farmer’s prized goat.  It happened before Javert’s time there, but it was something of a local legend, the sort of tale that got told every time a large group of men gathered at the local pub.  Valjean is telling it now mostly for Fantine’s benefit (although Javert dutifully pretends he has never heard it before, as per their agreement).  She laughs at all the right places, but she is distracted and fidgety.  She has barely touched her dinner - a delicious concoction of roast quail, twice baked potatoes, and mixed vegetables.  Strawberries in whipped cream rests on the counter for dessert.  It’s the last of the strawberries, now that winter is setting in, and Fantine worked extra hard to get the cream just right.  
  
    Javert keeps expecting Valjean to ask her what is wrong.  He is the one best suited to dealing with emotions, especially when they are coming from Fantine.  But he doesn’t, he just keeps telling stupid stories about people they all knew a very long time ago.  He is distracting them - or at least trying to, which isn’t really his style at all.  
  
    “One of these days, Javert,” Valjean is saying, “my stories will actually get you to laugh.”  The humour in his voice is perfectly crafted, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.  
  
    Javert wipes his mouth carefully on his serviette, folds it up, and places it next to his empty plate.  “I highly doubt it, Valjean.  If you’ll excuse me I think I left a few tools out.”  He stands up, waving the others away when they start to rise as well.  They usually don’t stand on formality in his house, but this uncharacteristic display of forgetfulness on his part seems to have thrown them off balance.  Valjean is no longer trying to mask the worry in his eyes.  
  
    When Javert is outside, he heads straight for the cowshed.  Of course he never left any tool out where they would be subject to rust or someone might step on them.  Every device has its proper place, and every night before going in for supper, Javert does a careful inventory.  A small part of his mind thinks that maybe if Valjean and Fantine have a moment to themselves, Valjean will be able to figure out what is wrong and they will be able to continue on as they have before.  
  
    Isabelle moos softly when she sees him, which brings a genuine smile to Javert’s lips.  No one is ever as unguardedly happy to see him as she is, not even Valjean.  He leans against her solid weight, gently stroking her from shoulder to hip.  In some ways, she reminds him of Gymont, with her steadfast loyalty and dedication.  More than once he has wondered if some shadow of Gymont might be out there, perhaps also waiting for him in the forest, but what use would he have for a horse?  No, Isabelle is perfectly suited to his needs here in the garden, even if she smells worse than Gymont ever did.  
  
    He’s not sure how long he stands out there, petting Isabelle and breathing in her musky scent before he hears footsteps approach.  He knows it is Valjean before he even turns to look; not only are Valjean’s footsteps heavier and more distinct, but their two souls have a closer connection and Javert can sort of...sense when he is close by.  Fantine and Javert sort of circle around each other warily but friendly, like two mutts who have tussled before but are now part of the same pack.  It is a completely different sort of feeling, one which Javert at times finds himself wishing would go away.  
  
    “I knew you would never leave tools unattended,” Valjean says, half mocking, half accusing.  
  
    Javert gives Isabelle one last pat and turns to face Valjean, dusting his hands off.  “I thought perhaps if you had time alone, you could find out what is bothering Fantine.”  
  
    It is hard to tell, but it looks like Valjean is blushing in the starlight.  His lips twist wryly.  “We thought we were hiding our distress from you.  I suppose it takes more than the wits of the two of us to get anything past a highly trained officer of the law, though.”  
  
    Javert frowns.  “One of you nearly succeeded.  Fantine is too guileless to ever hide anything from me, but it surprises me to hear you too have been distressed.  What...” and then he realises.  “The girl.  Has something happened to her?”  
  
    “No,” Valjean hastens to assure him.  “At least, not yet.  Not that we are aware of.  There have been...complications.  She has her mother’s weak constitution, and the doctors are worried she may not be able to bring the baby to term.”  
  
    Anger flashes through Javert and by God it is irrational, but he cannot help himself.  “You felt the need to keep this from me?  What other secrets do you two conspire?”  
  
    “Javert, please,” Valjean says calmly.  “We know you have no care for the world outside your garden.  Cosette is not your concern, so we agreed not to bother you with our business.”  
  
    “I’ll thank you to let me decide what is and is not my business.”  
  
    Valjean tries to remain as placid as ever in the face of Javert’s cold, unreasonable rage.  “Very well.  Javert, it comes to our attention that Cosette is not faring well, and Fantine and I may be distracted for a while until we learn one way or another her fate.  Is this something you concern yourself about?”  
  
    “No.”  
  
    “You generally do not wish to know what is happening beyond your hedge, correct?”  
  
    “Yes.”  
  
    “Then what would you have us do?” Valjean demands.  “We keep our secrets from you to spare you and when we do, we are to blame.  If we trouble you, we are to blame as well.  There is no winning with you.”  Javert starts to say something, but Valjean continues before he has the chance.  “This whole place is so secluded that we can’t even look in on Cosette from here, we have to sneak outside your borders to see her.  It’s a miracle we even know something is happening to her at all!  What are you afraid of, exactly, Inspector?”  
  
    “Sneaking,” Javert sneers.  “You sneak out?  Like some sort of prisoner on the lam?  I have news for you, _24601_ , you aren’t my prisoner anymore.  You wish to leave to be with your Cosette?  Go right ahead.  I won’t hunt you down.   _You_ came to _me_.  And you can tell the same to your whore.”  
  
    He can see Valjean desperately trying to rein in his temper, but it is only barely working.  “All I meant,” Valjean says through clenched teeth, “was that perhaps you might consider, if not getting in touch with the living world yourself, then letting us do so.  Do not make us choose between you and Cosette.”  
  
    “I have just told you, you are free to make that choice.  It will not bother me one whit if you walk out of this place right now,” Javert says.  
  
    “Valjean!”  
  
    Both men turn in the direction of the cottage.  Fantine races towards them in the darkness, her face pale and frightened.  “Did you feel it?” she gasps.  “Something has happened.  I think Cosette just went into labour.”  
  
    Valjean’s eyes widen.  “It is still six weeks before the baby ought to be born.”  He looks back at Javert, eyes pleading.  This is Javert’s last chance, and they both know it.  
  
    Javert, however, stares him down; he has made enough concessions for the both of them, and he is finished.  This is the one line he will not cross.  Valjean reads this in his eyes and - saddened, disappointed - turns back to Fantine.  He takes her by the arm and leads her to the gate that will take them to the outside parts of Heaven.  “Come on,” he says as they go.  “We have to get back to your Heaven quickly.”  
  
    They don’t look back as they leave.  Javert watches them go, telling himself that he is not unhappy.  That at last he can get back to his normal routine.  
  
-  
  
    It turns out, his normal routine is far from a comfort.  One person working alone cannot even begin to achieve what three people working together can.  By the end of each day, he is so exhausted he barely has the energy to grab food from the larder, let alone cook it.  His bath is unpleasant without Valjean’s soothing, inane chatter to distract him.  He no longer wakes to the sounds of Valjean sleepily stoking the fire for tea or Fantine quietly letting herself in because she didn’t know it was still nighttime when she decided to come visit.  One day he puts aside his gardening in favour of going into the woods to see what he can hunt.  The bow in his hands is unwieldy though, and he manages a grand total of nothing.  He does, however, spy a couple of wild chickens, and he remembers Valjean’s plans for a chicken coop.  He resolutely does not feel a pang of sadness at the thought of Valjean being here to build it, and instead gets to work on it himself, figuring the garden can hold for another couple of days while he tends to this task.  
  
    The result is disappointing, to say the least.  It’s a miracle the coop is even able to stand, let alone house the two chickens and a rooster that Javert manages to wrangle and drag back to the cottage, squawking and screaming.  If he were still alive, he’s fairly sure the wide variety of scratches he has gained would be bleeding quite heavily.  
  
    That night, he collapses onto his bed without even bothering to turn down the sheets first.  He sleeps fitfully, dreaming of babies being born the wrong way around, mothers bleeding to death, babies who turn into flesh-eating monsters as soon as they see daylight.  
  
    For two weeks he mopes around and tells himself he is not moping, he is readjusting.  A person cannot live his life one way only to have it ripped out from under him, he reasons.  But of course it’s not like he relied on the others, he just had grown used to their presence.  That is all.  And if he imagines any sort of reproach or shame in Isabelle’s eyes...well, she’s a cow and what does she know?  
  
-  
  
    “I see you built the chicken coop.”  
  
    Javert closes his eyes, does not turn around.  He is sitting on his milking stool, patting Isabelle’s side early one morning, just about to start milking her.  He didn’t even hear the man’s approach, and he curses himself for being less than one hundred percent vigilant.  The sound of his voice stirs up a whole multitude of emotions - rage that he would come back; shame that he, Javert, did not have the courage to banish him from his home; fear because he is startled; and somewhere, buried deep, deep within himself, happiness and relief that Valjean came back.  
  
    “I did,” Javert finally manages to say, though he still does not look up.  “It’s a fine, sturdy structure.  In fact, I made some improvements to your original design.  It’s much better now.”  
  
    “It just fell over.”  
  
    Javert whips his head around.  No, the coop is still standing, although it is leaning precariously to one side.  A strong wind would knock it over.  Hell, a _light_ wind might be enough to knock it over.  The chickens and rooster have escaped and are merrily destroying the nearest vegetable patch.  Javert growls in the back of his throat.  
  
    “Have you come back just to mock me, Monsieur?”  
  
    Valjean sighs and lays a hand on Isabelle’s neck.  She moos loudly; apparently she does not share Javert’s disgruntlement at Valjean’s return.  Javert begins to milk her, although he denounces her as a traitor in the back of his mind.  “I came back,” Valjean says, “because this is where I need to be.”  
  
    “And yet you were not here,” Javert says.  “You left.”  
  
    “You forced me to.  I had no choice.”  
  
    “There is always a choice.  You made the wrong one.  I wish I could say it’s not a pattern with you,” Javert says scathingly.  
  
    Valjean’s hand clenches almost imperceptibly, although it’s enough to make Isabelle shift uncomfortably.  “When will you learn that not everything is a black or white decision?  Yes or no, stay or leave.  Where is the in-between with you?”  
  
    “There is none.”  
  
    “But there has to be,” Valjean shouts, startling both Javert and Isabelle.  “There has to be,” he says again, softer this time.  “Making me choose between my child or yourself is not only selfish and pigheaded, it is also destroying both of us.  Or can you not see that?  Would you rather see us both cast out of Heaven for your stubbornness?  And Fantine, too?  Because right now she is tearing herself up that we left you here on your own.”  
  
    Javert yanks a little too hard on one of Isabelle’s teats.  She is just about done with the both of them, if she is perfectly honest with herself, and the next human who mistreats her body is going to get a swift kick, she silently vows.  Javert, meanwhile, is saying, “If she is so worried why are you the only one who has returned?”  
  
    “Until you find it in yourself to share your Heaven with the outside world, or at least a small part of it, Fantine has to stay away for now.  Because of Cosette.”  
  
    Javert is so startled that he meets Valjean’s eye for the first time.  “The child...”  
  
    “She survived.  But barely.  It was very close for a while.  Fantine wants to stay where she can keep on eye on her and the baby, make sure they are in capable hands.  If I am honest, I would prefer to do the same, but...”  
  
    The words, the sentiments - that Valjean not only needs to be here but is needed here, that they missed each other, that they are two sides of the same coin, completely dependent on each other, that they cannot survive without each other - remain unspoken.  Instead, Valjean heaves a great breath and says, “When you finish with that milk, how about I show you how to build a proper chicken coop?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was like having my teeth pulled without anesthetic. I hope you all like it because owwwww. I am too emotionally tied up in Javert.


	6. If

“What are you reading?”  
  
Javert looks up, surprised and a little annoyed.  It’s not exactly a forbidden question, but it’s one that has never been asked before.  Reading time is usually quiet and solitary, even when they are sitting right next to each other on the couch.  It’s a very comfortable couch, mostly due to the fact that Valjean sleeps on it every night and therefore has made it into something quite luxurious, and Javert enjoys sitting on it almost more than he likes his own bed.  Javert’s bed, although not necessarily uncomfortable, is just basic enough to fit his needs.  
  
The point being, however, that even when sitting side by side, Valjean and Javert do not interrupt each other to discuss what they are reading.  If one of them wishes to bring up an interesting idea or suggestion, they do so after they have both finished for the night.  Never before, and especially never when either is currently in the middle of a chapter.  
  
“It’s a book about various cacti of the New World.  I don’t think they’ll thrive very well here, though.  We get too much rain and the water table is too close to the surface,” Javert says and then very pointedly holds his book up to his face.  
  
Valjean, however, just continues to stand there looking at him.  He is next to the main bookcase, which by now is nearly overflowing with books, mostly about gardening and hunting, although there are starting to be a few works of fiction mixed in there as well.  Those are almost all for Valjean’s benefit, although Javert has been known to knock off on the occasional evening for a bit of Dumas or Gautier.  
  
“Was there something you wanted?” Javert asks when he finally can bear Valjean’s unwavering gaze no longer.  
  
Valjean is far from put off, however.  Few things faze him, least of all Javert’s rudeness.  “Have you noticed that out of all the books we have here, nary a single one of them is a Bible?”  
  
Javert frowns.  It was something he had only vaguely noted in the back of his mind, but now that Valjean has mentioned it, it seems somehow...wrong.  “Yes.  Do you think it’s significant?”  
  
Valjean runs a hand over the spines of several books.  “I’m...not sure.  I just would have thought - this being Heaven - Bibles would be all over the place.  Sort of...mandatory accessories in every private Heaven.  Maybe you don’t have to read them but just have them at hand.”  
  
Javert thinks it over carefully before he ventures a hypothesis.  “Perhaps we are not the ones who need the Lord’s book.  We have followed His Law and gained His reward.  Anyone who enters Heaven must already know the teachings in the Bible forwards and backwards.  The ones who must read from it are those sinners down in Hell who ignored it in life and are now paying the price.”  
  
“And yet in my travels through other Heavens before I can here, I met more than one atheist who has never touched a Bible in his life.  How would you explain that?”  
  
Javert sets his book down and regards Valjean with a calm expression that in no way reflects how he currently feels.  Inside, he is close to panicking but he’ll be damned...er, he won’t let Valjean know that.  He’d rather die a hundred more deaths than let that old con know he has doubts on occasion.  “What are you implying?  Perhaps this is not Heaven and our eternal reward after all?”  
  
Valjean does not say anything for several long minutes.  He stays silent for so long that Javert picks his book back up, though he cannot concentrate on the words any longer.  “The Bible...” Valjean begins at last; Javert sets his book aside and gives the man his full attention.  “The Bible is the word of God...but it was written down by Man.  What...if we got it wrong after all?  What if...the rules we have lived by our whole lives were....”  He cannot bring himself to finish the thought.  He looks terrified at the very words coming out of his mouth.  
  
“It is not our place to question God’s will, nor his Word,” Javert says softly, reassuringly.  “If you find yourself doubting and cannot turn to the Bible for assistance, I suggest prayer.  One would think God more accessible here than anywhere else in His Kingdom’s, would you not agree?”  
  
Valjean looks relieved.  “Yes...of course you are right.  I pray often here, but not as much as I did while I was alive.  Perhaps I need to remedy that.”  
  
Javert closes his book and puts it in its proper place on the shelf.  “That may be wise.  I shall leave you to it.”  
  
He goes into his own room and prepares his bed for sleep.  It’s a bit earlier than his normal hour, but his routine is comforting to him.  Why would Valjean bring up such a horrible line of thought?  Why would he even think it in the first place?  
  
Unbeknownst to either man, they kneel on the floor at the exact same moment, in the exact same position, and begin to recite the Lord’s Prayer in tandem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short but this is the first of several micro-chapters I have planned. The next chapter is not only already written but it's three times as long, so it should more than make up for it.


	7. Drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the change in rating. Things are finally heating up in Javert's little cottage. Nothing too graphic (yet) but there is smut.

    Valjean bends over the still, wrinkling his nose.  “I don’t think it’s fit for consumption.”  
  
    Javert approaches, holding two glasses, and glances inside.  “Good thing we’re already dead then,” he says, dipping one of the tumblers into the brew.  Valjean is right - the fumes alone are almost enough to make Javert feel lightheaded.  He hands the glass over and then dips the other one in.  
  
    Valjean continues to eye the liquid warily.  “Perhaps we ought to use it as pesticide,” he says, only half joking.  
  
    “You’re the one who wanted to see if we could make alcohol,” Javert reminds him.  
  
    Valjean sits down at the kitchen table and places the glass in front of him.  He studies it carefully as though it may spontaneously impart some wisdom without him even having to drink it.  “I don’t think alcohol is what we produced, if I am perfectly honest.”  
  
    “Good thing you have never been perfectly honest, then,” Javert retorts.  He joins Valjean at the table, also setting his glass down.  “After you, Valjean.  This was your idea.”  
  
    Valjean looks a little green.  “At the same time, perhaps?”  
  
    Javert considers this.  “Very well,” he says at last.  Both men pick up their glasses.  “On the count of three?”  
  
    “Aye,” Valjean says.  “One.”  
  
    “Two.”  
  
    “Three,” they say in unison.  As one, they clink the tumblers together and gulp down a large amount of liquid.  And as one, they begin to cough and retch dangerously.  Javert dashes for the back door, while Valjean lunges for the bathtub and prays for mercy.  Neither of them ends up vomiting, but it is a close call.  
  
    Javert comes back inside, his eyes watering.  “Shall we try that again?”  Valjean glares at him from over the bucket.  
  
    “I think we’re done with this little experiment.”  He makes a move to dismantle the still, but his knees are rubbery and weak, and he collapses back into his chair.  Javert hobbles over to join him.  
  
    “Deal with it later,” Javert mutters.  
  
    Valjean honours him with a sly grin.  “Could it be that this old con’s slothful habits are rubbing off on you?”  
  
    “Only in your dreams would you ever rub off on me, 24601.”  
  
    Valjean shifts uncomfortably in his seat, which surprises Javert. They had gradually come to the point where the occasional reference to their past lives was permitted and even joked about.  Javert had assumed them beyond any residual discomfort.  It is only for a moment, however, and in the next second Valjean is back to his usually puppyish expressions.  He grins widely.  “You should have seen your face.  You looked as though you had swallowed a live canary.”  
  
    Javert grimaces.  “It felt like it, too.”  Unthinkingly, he reaches out and takes another sip of his homemade liquor; Valjean automatically follows suit and within seconds both men are spitting and cursing at their own stupidity.  
  
    “You know,” Valjean manages to say between bouts of mirth, “I think it wasn’t quite as horrible the second time around.”  
  
    “That’s like saying it’s not quite as horrible to get stuck by a wasp as it is a jellyfish,” Javert says.  He is attempting to scrape the coat off his tongue that the alcohol has left, to no avail.  
  
    Valjean takes another tentative sip.  “No, really.  It gets easier each time.”  
  
    Javert sets his own glass on the far edge of the table, where he won’t be tempted to pick it up again by mistake.  “I’ll take your word on it.”  
  
    They sit like that in silence for several long moments.  Valjean occasionally sips from his drink, and his face takes on a relaxed, almost blissful countenance.  Javert eyes him suspiciously, expecting some sort of trick, but Valjean neither eggs him on nor makes any further comments about the liquor.  Indeed, he barely seems to be paying attention to Javert at all, lost in his own thoughts.  Not to be outdone, Javert finally reaches for his glass and chokes down more of the liquor.  He begins to feel it working - a dulling of his senses and quieting of his thoughts.  
  
    Valjean breaks the silence first, with a question Javert would never have expected to cross his lips.  
  
    “What was your mother like?  Did you know her?”  
  
    Javert stares at him.  He has no idea what would prompt such a personal and inappropriate question.  Worse, he is almost inclined to answer it.  He quickly takes another drink to stall his mouth.  
  
    Valjean, however, is not easily deterred.  “You told me once you were born in a jail.  I never forgot that.”  
  
    “She was a gypsy and a whore,” Javert says gruffly.  His glass is empty, he realises with a dismayed grunt.  He stands up to refill it and brings more for Valjean as well.  “And my father was a...convict.”  
  
    Valjean eyes him with pity, and Javert seriously considers throwing his drink right in the man’s face.  Pity, from the likes of him?  Javert would rather march right to Hell’s door and beg for admittance.  
  
    “A difficult life,” Valjean says.  
  
    Javert rolls his eyes.  “I overcame it.”  He sniffs.  “Which is more than some men in this room can say for themselves.”  
  
    “I, too, overcame my heritage,” Valjean says.  “It just took me longer.  How did you escape from your past?”  
  
    “When I was still very young, I was sent to an orphanage.  I spent the rest of my childhood being instructed on how best to serve the Lord and His chosen rulers,” Javert says.  
  
    “Do you remember anything about her?” Valjean presses.  “Did she ever teach you any of the gypsy ways?”  
  
    “No,” Javert snaps, weary of this line of questioning.  After a moment, however, he relents and rubs his forehead, suddenly exhausted.  “Yes.  She taught me how to read palms.”  
  
    Valjean leans forward.  “Really?  Will you read mine?  
  
    Javert’s first impulse is to deny him, to pretend he was joking, but that’s no good; Valjean knows him well enough by now to know his sense of humour runs more towards the dry or sarcastic than deceitful.  “I’d rather not.”  
  
    Valjean casts his eyes downward, ashamed.  “Of course.  Forgive me, it was in poor taste for me to even ask.”  
  
    Something bubbles within Javert’s chest.  It is a feeling he is well familiar with, being a man of faith: guilt.  Feeling it regarding Valjean is completely new, however, and the novelty of it combined with the drink in Javert’s stomach makes him backtrack.  “Oh, very well.  If it will stop your moping, I will read your palm.  Though I must say it’s a bit of a foregone conclusion.”  
  
    Chuckling, Valjean proffers his hands, palms up.  “Humour me.  Pretend I am one of your mother’s clients.”  
  
    “So you wish me to lure you into my tent under the pretense of reading your palms and then commit a variety of sins unto your body?” Javert says.  It is meant to be snide and ironic, a mockery not a promise, but a shiver runs through both men when he takes Valjean’s hands into his own.  
  
    “Let’s see,” Javert says softly.  The tone of voice is very important, he remembers his mother telling him.  You can say anything in a certain tone, and people will eat it up.  They’re like dogs that way.  “Oh, good Sir...you are very fortunate.  You will have a long life, yes.”  He traces a line.  “Long life and three...no, four strong sons.  A beautiful wife to pass on your strong lineage.  Very fortunate indeed.”  
  
    Valjean frowns.  “But I never married and the only child I had was Cosette.”  
  
    Javert snorts and thrusts Valjean’s hand back at him.  He takes a sip of liquor for lack of anything better to do.  “Palmistry isn’t about reading the lines of your hands, it’s about reading the palms themselves.  A gentleman like Monsieur Madeleine comes to my mother - his hands lily soft and unblemished - to learn his fortune, she would tell him anything he wants to hear to make sure he pays her well.  Usually that means wife, children, long life, prosperous business.”  He counts each one off on his fingers.  “A happy drunkard comes, she tells him he will win big at gambling.  An angry drunkard, she tells him his wife is cuckolding him.  Better he takes his anger and drunkenness out on his wife than her, she would say.”  
  
    “So there is no real art to it?” Valjean says.  He sounds disappointed.  “It’s not real.”  
  
    Javert hesitates, then capitulates.  “There is, but my mother did not share it with those who by daylight would shun and prosecute her.  Real palm reading was reserved for other gypsies only.”  
  
    Valjean smiles and holds his hands out again.  “Please.”  
  
    Javert rolls his eyes.  “Very well.”  He remembers another trick, this one played on him by the other children in the camp.  “I will begin with a short ritual.”  He frowns in concentration, dredging up long-buried memories.  With a feather-light touch, he carefully taps his finger against three spots on Valjean’s palm: one on the heel, one dead-center, and one where the first finger meets the palm.  Next he draws three horizontal lines, each straight through the places he tapped.  Now that the palm is good and sensitive, he slowly draws (still with a barely-there touch) a squiggly line followed by a straight, vertical line, and then - starting from the base of his fingers up to the heel of his palm - he drags the back of his nails lightly across Valjean’s hand, setting the nerves therein on fire.  
  
    Valjean yelps and snatches his hand back.  It is tingling and itchy, and Javert, damn him, is actually laughing at the look on Valjean’s face.  It has been his top priority to elicit such a genuine laugh from Javert, and part of him is ecstatic that he has done so, but mostly he is concentrating on rubbing away the tingling sensations in his hand.  “And the point of that ritual is...?” he asks icily.  When Javert cannot answer him for laughing too hard, Valjean cannot help but smile, too.  “You are drunk,” he says gently.  
  
    “And you are not?” Javert demands.  
  
    “Perhaps just a little,” Valjean admits.  
  
    Javert picks up Valjean’s hand once more and rubs the remainder of the nasty feeling away.  When he has finished with that, he bends his head once more over Valjean’s palm.  The names of the various lines come to him immediately.  He frowns.  
  
    “What is it?”  
  
    “Nothing,” Javert murmurs.  “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, but your Success and Career lines are strong.  As is your Ring of Solomon.”  
  
    “What is that?”  
  
    Javert traces the small curve just below his first finger.  “It determines your ability to serve others for the good of all.”  He lets his gaze travel all of the hand, but he does not say anything else out loud.  He had been right, this was all a foregone conclusion.  Long life, no marriage, good health.  He wonders if the lines had always looked like this in life, or if they had conformed to suit his fate after his death.  But no, that’s ridiculous - what were the odds that a person would want to have his palms read after he had already died?  
  
    “Do you see anything else surprising?” Valjean asks in a hushed voice.  
  
    Javert looks up into his eyes, the word ‘no’ perched on the tip of his tongue, but it dies before leaving his mouth.  There is an intensity in Valjean’s gaze that Javert is unprepared for, a thirst that has nothing to do with the drinks resting forgotten on the table.  Valjean looks down, swallowing hard; Javert watches the movement of his throat, nearly overcome with the urge to sink his teeth right into Valjean’s jugular vein.  How many times has he fantasized about hunting down Valjean like a tiger to his prey, but now....  Javert realises he is still clutching Valjean’s hand, and he drops it as though burned.  
  
    “I’m sorry,” Valjean murmurs or maybe it is Javert himself saying those words he cannot keep track his head is a mess.  He reaches for his drink, thinks better of it, and stands to go splash water on his face from the basin.  It is cold and refreshing and clears his mind so that he can think straight again.  When he turns back around - after taking several long moments to compose himself - Valjean has not moved an inch.  He still sits in his chair, gazing ashamedly down at his open palms.  
  
    “Valjean,” Javert begins, but he doesn’t know how to continue.  Now that he is completely sober again he wishes he were drunk.    
  
    Valjean looks up, not quite meeting his eyes, and there is a certain self-deprecating twist to his lips as he stands and approaches Javert.  He lays a comforting hand on Javert’s shoulder, which Javert most certainly does not lean into.  “Forgive me,” he says.  “The drink went to my head more than I realised.  I think I shall go lie down now.”  He closes his eyes and leans in to press a kiss to Javert’s temple.  Javert’s eyes flutter closed as well, and when he opens them again, Valjean has disappeared into the study and the door is shut.  
  
-  
  
    It is a long night.  Javert tosses and turns, unable to sleep.  What does Valjean want from him?  What does he want from Valjean?  The kiss, the look of longing in his eyes, these pointed to a desire for unspeakable things.  Here, in Heaven no less!  Right in the Lord’s own kingdom does Valjean wish to...what?  Javert dares not put a name to it.  
  
    He can still feel the way Valjean’s lips pressed into his skin, warm and soft and wet.  Every time he thinks of it, a jolt of lust and anxiety shoots down his throat to nestle in his stomach.  His whole body feels like it has been set aflame, but he does not know if Valjean would be the balm or the accelerant.  He curses his indecision; the last time he felt like this, he ended up jumping into a river, and the root of that mistake was none other than the man right next door to him.  And yet he does not have the heart to just kick him out of his Heaven and be done with him for ever.  Just as Valjean had not been able to bear being away from Javert for too long while Cosette was in danger.  There was something downright magnetic between the two of them, something that kept pulling them together even when all they wanted was to run away.  
  
    But what Valjean is looking for in him is more than just magnetism.  It is sinful, unclean, vile.  They would get thrown out of Heaven for certain, and Javert will not be dragged down to Hell for the likes of Jean Valjean ever again.  
  
    Or so he tells himself.  
  
    He sits up in bed.  His body is feverishly warm, and his nightshirt clings to his body.  “Jean,” he says.  Just that.  Not whispered, not shouted, just said evenly, as though Valjean is sitting right next to him.  He waits.  
  
    There is a long pause in which Javert nearly gives up, but just as he is certain his heart will explode right out of his chest, the door to the study opens and Valjean stands in his doorway, which Javert never bothers to close.  He is wearing his usual sleepwear of a loose pair of trousers, and judging by the state of his hair and the dark circles under his eyes, Javert is not the only one who has been having trouble getting to sleep.  They study each other for a moment, and then at once they are both moving, Valjean striding towards the bed and Javert shifting over to make room for him.  He slips between the covers, leaving a good six inches between them.  The next move is entirely up to Javert.  
  
    “It is a sin,” Javert whispers, though he is not sure if he is telling Valjean or himself.  
  
    “Loving someone is never a sin,” Valjean says.  
  
    Slowly, tentatively, Javert turns on his side so that he is facing Valjean.  He reaches out a hand and places it on Valjean’s chest.  Feels the rise and fall, the pounding heart.  Under his steady hand, the beat slows until it returns to normal.  Through an unspoken agreement they decide that this is far enough for now, and they both fall asleep in that exact position.  
  
-  
  


The next morning finds them almost inextricably entangled.  Somehow in their sleep, Valjean has shifted onto his stomach and thrown one arm across Javert’s chest, pinning him to the bed and making it difficult to breathe in a strangely soothing way.  Javert ended up on his back with his legs tangled beneath and around Valjean’s.  The feeling of his bare legs against the soft cotton of Valjean’s trousers sets his nerves tingling and his heart racing before he is even fully awake.  Beside him, Valjean snuffles slightly and buries his face deeper into the crook of Javert’s neck.

 

All of which combines to give Javert a very unwanted erection.

 

He normally has extraordinary control over his body’s responses and can will away any untoward functions summarily, but Valjean is waking up now too, and the way he stretches and rubs against Javert is destroying any semblance of coherent thought Javert might have.  His nose bumps against a particularly sensitive spot on Javert’s neck, and Javert has to clutch the arm Valjean has thrown around him in order to stop himself from doing something as embarrassing as growling like a cat in heat.

 

Valjean’s eyes flutter open, his eyelashes brushing against Javert’s clenched jaw.  “Good morning,” he murmurs.

 

Javert takes a perverse pleasure in digging his nails into Valjean’s flesh, even though Valjean’s only response is to chuckle and ghost his lips down the length of Javert’s neck.  If this is payback for the teasing Javert played on Valjean last night, it is a very befitting and agonising sort of revenge.  Javert has gone from being half aroused to full-blown erection, and if the bulge against his thigh is any indication, so has Valjean.

 

And if the way his hand is traveling down Javert’s stomach is any indication, Valjean clearly means to take control of the situation.  Which naturally Javert will not tolerate, so long as he has any brain function left with which to protest.  Valjean may be the stronger of the two, but Javert has learned many tricks in his years dealing with the lowest scum of France.  He knows how to wrestle men twice as heavy as him to the ground, and he uses that knowledge now to overpower Valjean and flip them over so that he is now on his back and Javert can straddle his waist.

 

He must not have thought this through very carefully, however, because he suddenly finds his cock nestled against Valjean’s with naught but a few thin layers of clothing separating the two, and the look of beautiful surprise on Valjean’s face is not helping in the least.  Javert has to bite his lip to force himself not to thrust himself against Valjean.  He spreads his hands out as much as he can against Valjean’s bare chest, savouring the feel of skin against skin.  Valjean grabs his hands and holds them in place, and they stay like that for several long moment, just staring at each other.  The pure lust of the last few minutes subsides slightly and they acknowledge silently that this is a turning point; from here on in, things will never be the same as they once were.

 

Javert leans forward slowly and - eyes open the whole time - brings his lips to Valjean’s.  It is surprisingly chaste, and they hold like that for a long moment.  There is no need to hurry - they have all of eternity waiting for them.  They take the time to learn each other’s preferences, how much pressure, how precisely their lips fit together.  Then Valjean opens his mouth to let Javert’s tongue in and the spell is broken.  Javert lets out a long breath he is not aware he was holding as Valjean’s hands leave his and clutch at Javert’s thighs.

 

Things happen fast after that, almost too fast for Javert to keep up.  Valjean guides Javert’s hips against his own and it is such an exquisite pleasure that it almost borders on pain, with the soft cloth rubbing against his genitals.  Javert manages to shake off Valjean’s hands long enough to shove his own nightshirt up over his head and Valjean’s trousers down around his ankles.  Valjean starts to kick them all the way off, but there is no time.  Javert thinks he may explode at the lightest touch right now and he wants to get in as much sensation as possible.  He lowers himself back onto Valjean’s hips and grasps both cocks in one hand.  It is awkward and strange, but the novelty of the feeling throws both men into a lust-fueled frenzy.

 

Valjean wraps his own, much larger hand around the both of them, and Javert focuses instead on touching every inch of Valjean’s body that he can reach while simultaneously kissing him senseless and struggling not to push into Valjean’s hand.  Valjean, however, must have a different idea of what is appropriate because he uses his free hand to urge Javert’s hips into an arrhythmic thrusting that sends them both over the edge too soon.

 

Valjean groans and drops his head onto the pillow, laughing.  “That was...” He chuckles.  “I don’t even know how to describe it.  That was amazing.”

 

Javert cannot respond.  He is staring at Valjean’s hand in stupefied horror.  There is no seed (what use would it have in Heaven?) but somehow it is as if he can see the essence of what they have done writ all over their bodies.

 

“Javert?”  Valjean pries his head up to peer worriedly at him.  When he sees the expression on Javert’s face, his heart sinks to his feet.  “No, Javert...don’t do this.  Don’t...”  His own throat closes up and he can only reach for Javert in a vain attempt to push away all the bad thoughts crowding into his lover’s head.

 

Javert, however, shies away from his touch.  He climbs off of Valjean’s lap and sits on his own side of the bed, now staring at his own hands as though he cannot believe they have betrayed him.

 

“Javert, please...”

 

He musters enough energy to push out, “I need to be alone right now.  I need...”

 

Valjean climbs slowly off the bed, dismayed but not without hope.  If he gives Javert what he needs right now, maybe there is still a chance for them.  He tugs his trousers up and looks back at Javert.  “I’ll be out in the cowshed with Isabelle,” he says.  Milking the cow is exclusively Javert’s job, but he is in no condition to stand at the moment, let alone make it all the way out there.  It’s a mark of how far gone inside his own head he is that Javert does not make even the slightest motion to argue with Valjean.

 

Javert waits until he is outside, and then he waits for another five minutes to make sure he is definitely not coming back.  As soon as he is certain, he slides off the bed and kneels beside it, hands clenched together, and prays.


	8. Heart

_Dear God, forgive me for I have sinned and sinned grievously.  I have lain with a man as one would with a woman.  I have allowed myself to be tempted into repulsive acts, and succumbed to worldly temptations.  That man is a snake, put here by You to tempt me and I have failed.  I am unworthy of Your eternal reward as I have proven again and again with my misjudgement and misguidance and my inability to rid myself of the viper that is Jean Valjean.  He...._

_**** _

_No I take full responsibility for my part in this travesty.  I beg You cast me down with the other wretches not fit for Your Kingdom.  I pray You do it quickly._

_**** _

_And yet I am still here.  He says it cannot be a sin to love another person.  (do not listen) Pretty words meant to lead me from the path of the righteous.  Sweet Jesus what is it about this man that turns me around inside my own head?  All my life I knew where I stood with You with the law with myself and then he comes along and I no longer know up from down wrong from right and surely the afterlife must be some sort of reprieve if only to be in Hell without him but no somehow I am here and he is as well...._

_**** _

_How does a sinner like Valjean receive Your favour?  How..._

_**** _

_Forgive me, it is not place to question You._

_**** _

_(but fantine...)_

_**** _

_(begin again)_

_**** _

_Here is what I know to be true: it is wrong to lie with a man in sexual congress.  It is wrong to allow the body’s desires to interfere with inner salvation.  It is wrong to allow others to tempt me from my path of righteousness.  (but is it wrong to love?)  (love...?)  It is wrong to allow agents of Lucifer to continue to thrive in God’s Kingdom.  It shall be my duty to make sure the scourge that is Valjean is cast down to where he belongs._

_**** _

_(where does it say - in God’s Word - where is the word - nowhere to be found...)_

_**** _

_It is wrong to doubt the will of God or his Word.  Even now he is in my thoughts my prayers whispering doubts meant to destroy me to send me back down to -_

_**** _

_Help me._

_**** _

_The solution is obvious, I must rid myself of the temptation.  Cast him out of my Heaven.  He says it can be done (but would it even work on him) and it is only a matter of concentration (even when everyone else was banished he still got in) I just need to be stronger than my sinful desires.  I will overcome them.  I will (need him) be stronger without him in faith and devotion to You and You only._

_**** _

_(why not before now?)_

_**** _

_(perhaps...)_

_**** _

_Perhaps..._

_**** _

_(perhaps...)_

_**** _

_Perhaps though it is my duty to save him.  To turn him from sin raise him up from his path of faithlessness.  That is why he pointed out the lack of Bibles; he is faltering and will fall without my interference.  It is up to me to be his support in..._

_**** _

_(or... - no - it’s possible - no)_

_**** _

_(he may be right)_

_**** _

_No._

_**** _

_(god isn’t listening)_

_**** _

_No._

_**** _

_(god doesn’t hear me)_

_**** _

_Forgivemeforgivemeforgivemeforgiveme_

_**** _

_(if god really was here he would have struck me down like i deserve where is he why won’t he)_

_**** _

_Our Father who art in Heaven_

_**** _

_(if he is in heaven why have i never seen him)_

_**** _

_Blessed be thy name_

_**** _

_(futile...)_

_**** _

_God grant me_

_**** _

_(say it)_

_**** _

_The serenity to accept_

  
_(say)_

_**** _

_The things I cannot change_

_**** _

_(it)_

_**** _

_I..._

_**** _

_(say it)_

_**** _

_I…_

_**** _

_(i...)_

_**** _

_I…_

****

“God is dead.”

****

\--

****

There is no ominous clap of thunder, no sensation of falling, tumbling down to the pit of Hell.  There is just Javert on his knees by his bed, half horrified and half relieved.  The sickening twisting in his stomach loosens and he feels like he can breathe easily again for the first time in weeks.  He opens his eyes, looks around the room.  Cold sunlight is pouring in through the window and Javert realises he is still naked.  He stands, stretches.  Says it again, louder, “God is dead.”  Still there is no retribution, no angels from on high to come deliver punishment for his blasphemy.  He wants to scream it from the rooftop.  How foolish they have been, he has been, worrying about following God’s law when God has forsaken them if ever he was even there to begin with.

****

The relief fades and fear returns.  If there is no God to set down his Law, what is there to keep evil separate from good?  What determines who goes to Heaven and whom to Hell?  It would explain how thieves and whores might end up amongst the righteous, while good men who make one mistake in their final hours would end up...elsewhere.  (His hand reaches automatically for his neck but he carefully does not think about... _that_.)  Without God to dictate, perhaps souls get the luck of the draw.  And isn’t that a frightening thought?  Leaving things up to chance?  It turns Javert’s stomach to ice just to think it.

****

The front door opens and Valjean enters.  He has dressed warmly against the chill.  Still Javert makes no move to cover himself.  Valjean looks pleased to see him up and returned to himself, although he is worried about the expression in Javert’s eyes - a sort of grim determination.

****

They stare at each other through the bedroom doorway; neither makes a move to close the distance between them.  Javert licks his lips, steadying his nerves.

****

“God has forsaken us.  He is just as dead as we all are, but where does a god go when he dies?  Not to his own Heaven, apparently.”

****

Any relief Valjean might have been feeling evaporates within a tenth of a second.  His face goes white as the blood rushes from it.  “Surely you don’t mean that,” he whispers.

****

“Surely I do.  It is the only explanation,” Javert says.  “May God strike me down for saying such blasphemies.”  He spreads his arms as if to make himself an easier target for God, but Valjean can only see how his gesture is a (hopefully unintentional) mockery of the Lord Christ.

****

Once again there is no flash of lightning, no sign at all that he has been heard by anyone but Valjean.  Javert continues, “It was you who have truly opened my eyes, who made me first doubt and now the doubt has led me to true knowledge.”

****

“Javert.”  Valjean’s voice is steady, but just barely.  “Please think about what you are saying -”

****

“I have thought about it.  It is the only explanation that makes sense.”

****

“If God had forsaken us, you would not be here in Heaven.”

****

“What do you know about that?” Javert demands.

****

Valjean does not answer his question.  It is not the first time either of them has referred obliquely to Javert’s suicide and the consequences, but Valjean refuses to address it directly until Javert does so first.  Valjean wonders if Javert knows the real truth of his own situation but he gets the impression that he does not.  “Just...please don’t do anything stupid.  You have a bad tendency to act rashly when things happen unexpectedly.  Perhaps we have proceeded too quickly.”

****

“I am not a blushing maiden to be coddled,” Javert says.  He sits down on the messy bed.  Valjean sheds his outer layers until he is wearing just his trousers and shirt, and joins Javert.  They sit quietly, not touching barely breathing.

****

At last Valjean speaks.  “Is it so terrible to think God is more merciful than we thought?  That God praises love above all else?”

****

“It is terrible to have been so gravely mistaken.  And not just me, but...everyone.  The whole faith.”

****

Valjean considers this.  “Perhaps you are right about that.  I do not believe you are right about God being dead or... unavailable.”

****

“Then where is He?”  He does not wish to sound like a lost child, but the morning has been beyond stressful and he just wants everything to be over.  Eternity suddenly feels like a very long time.

****

“Right where He has always been, I suppose,” Valjean says.  He takes Javert’s hand in one of his and taps his chest with the other.  “In here.  Invisible but present.”

****

Javert stares at him as though seeing - truly seeing - him for the first time.  Valjean cradles the back of Javert’s neck (Javert flinches but does not move away) with his free hand and guides his head close so that he may press a kiss to his temple, the exact same spot he kissed him last night.  “How many other people do you suppose I wronged in my efforts to do what I thought was God’s will?” he asks.  He doesn’t mean to, it just...sort of slips out.

****

“Hmmm.  Not many, I wager.  You forget that the man you knew in Toulon as 24601 was blind with hatred and bitterness.  That man never would have been welcomed into Heaven, at least not without a lot of penance.  I spent the whole rest of my life making up for my transgressions.  I can’t remember if I ever told you this, but when we worked together in Montreuil-sur-Mer, I grew to admire you.  You never wavered, never doubted your course.  We may have disagreed occasionally on how harsh the punishments for transgressors need be, but you were a steadying influence on me during a time when I was still very much a directionless and tempestuous man.”

****

Relief floods Javert’s entire being.  His back, which had been curving in on itself throughout this whole exchange, stiffens and becomes proud and straight once more.  Valjean releases his neck, though he keeps a grip on his hand for both of their comfort.  “Thank you, Valjean,” Javert says gruffly.  “I do not know what came over me.  I promise it shan’t happen again.”

****

“It’s alright if it does.  We are all prone to doubts every once in a while.”

****

“Not I,” Javert snaps.  Now that he is returning to himself, he is feeling irritable and uncharitable.

****

Valjean, however, only chuckles.  “No, I suppose not.”  There is only one being in Heaven or Earth that can truly deal with Javert when he is like this, only one who will bring him back into sorts.  “Get dressed.  Your mistress is waiting for you.  She was displeased when I showed up in your stead this morning.”

****

Javert glances out the window to the cowshed.  He feels ashamed for neglecting poor Isabelle.  He pulls on clean clothes, shaking off the hand that grips his so that he may do so.  Dressed, he feels even more like himself and he even adopts his old guard stance for a few seconds before heading out the door.

 


	9. Insides

    When Javert leaves the cottage, he sees that Isabelle has left the shelter of the cowshed and is foraging for greenery amongst one of the vegetable patches.  They have food stockpiled for her for the winter months, but she is given free range of the whole garden with the understanding that she not destroy anything irreparably.  When she sees him, she lows worriedly and ambles over to sniff him, checking for injury.

 

    “Don’t be silly,” he says softly, rubbing her face between her eyes.  “I am unharmed.  Just had a bad morning.”

 

    Isabelle snuffles agreeably.

 

    “I hope you didn’t kick or otherwise attempt to hurt Valjean.”

 

    She snorts and shakes her head.  Javert cannot help but smile a little.  Animals are so much easier to deal with than humans; they just do as their nature directs them.  No animal ever does anything that is completely unpredictable.  A dog may turn on his owner, yes, but there is always a reason for it, no matter how much the master may protest the act came out of the blue.  It is Isabelle’s nature to chew cud and give milk and act surly when she does not get her way - and Javert would never ask more from her than that.  And in return she would never, say, spontaneously lay eggs or chop down a tree because those things are not in her job description and go against her nature.

 

    Unlike, for example, convicts who randomly grow morals and turn people’s expectations upside-down on a daily basis.

 

    Javert moves around to Isabelle’s side and runs a hand along her flank.  Brushing Gymont had always been a relaxing chore, and although cows don’t require as much grooming as horses do, Isabelle is always ready for a thorough rub-down.  “Wait here,” he tells her and goes to fetch her favourite brush.  When he returns, she hasn’t moved an inch - perfectly reliable as always.

 

    “I feel like I am going mad,” he confides to her as he starts with her shoulders.  “Thoughts just fly round and round in my head and I feel like I am barely holding on to myself.  I never should have let him in here.  I wish he had never returned from watching over his precious Cosette.”

 

    Isabelle chides him softly.

 

    “You’re right.  Wishing retrospectively is useless.  I must look to the future and whatever it may bring.”  He sighs and pauses for a moment in his ministrations, which causes Isabelle to swing her head around to give him a death glare.  He pats her face distractedly and resumes.

 

    “What do you think of him?”

 

    Isabelle takes a moment to consider this.  As humans go, the playful one is not such a bad sort.  He doesn’t have quite the understanding of animals that her pet human, the seriouslovingmasterful one, does.  He is respectful of her, as well he should be, and he knows when to keep his distance.  But more importantly, he brings out the best in her human.  When the playful one is not around, her human gets mopey and sad, which makes her life less comfortable.  When the playful one is around, her human is...well, perhaps not overjoyed but he smiles more and is ten times more productive.  He jokes.  His caresses become somehow more loving.  And that is important.

 

    Which means that having the playful one around is important.

 

    And if keeping the playful one around means her human must do that thing which makes him smell of exertion and pheromones, then that is what her human must do.  For his sanity as well as hers.

 

    And she tells him this.  At length.

 

    Javert listens to her very seriously, continuing to brush her.  When at last she has finished, he leans down next to her face so that he is staring her directly in the eye.

 

    “I have no idea what any of that was supposed to mean.”

 

    Isabelle blows a noseful of snot at him in retaliation.

 

    Wiping his face, Javert moves to her rear to continue his brushing.  It may not be the best place to stand when dealing with an annoyed cow, but as long as he doesn’t stop any time soon, she won’t resort to kicking him in his thick skull.  Yet.  He is silent as he works, thinking things over, weighing the situation from every angle.  By the time he finishes going over her whole body, he has completely returned to himself and has regained his center.  He moves to stand directly in front of Isabelle and cups her face in his hands, pulling her head up so that they’re looking directly at each other.

 

    “I suppose we shall keep him after all.  If he’ll have us, that is.”

 

    Isabelle agrees.  Vociferously.

 

    However, Javert isn’t quite done.  He keeps a hold on her face, studying her intently.  “you know, there are some heathe- people who worship cows as gods,” he tells her.  “Maybe you are an incarnation or agent of God sent to keep watch over us.”

 

    She likes that idea.

 

    “If you are, you would be able to do something unexpected.  If you are God, show me a sign.  Make a sound like Gymont would.”

 

    Isabelle blinks slowly at him.

 

    He sighs and lowers her head, pats her on the shoulder.  “I thought not.  Try not to eat everything in sight and don’t harass the chickens.”

 

    She watches him go, thinking what a silly human he can be sometimes.  Her, a god.

 

    Actually, she quite likes the sound of that.

 

-

 

    When Javert gets back into the cottage, he is surprised to see Valjean has heated water and is pouring it into the bathtub.

 

    Valjean smiles sheepishly.  “I couldn’t foresee us getting much done by way of work today, so I thought we might as well take full advantage.  Would you like to go first?”

 

    Javert grunts to show he accepts this proposal and busies himself with preparing something of a breakfast for the both of them while they wait for the water to cool down a bit.  When at last they have broken fast and the water is the perfect temperature, Javert swallows back his uncertainty and strips with confidence.  He lowers himself into the steaming water and revels in the heat that soothes muscles he wasn’t aware were sore until right now.  He very studiously does not look at Valjean, choosing instead to close his eyes and tip his head back against the lip of the tub, humming with pleasure.  Never has sin felt so relaxing and the herbs that Valjean has added to the bathwater lull him into a state of dreamy complacency.

 

    Valjean, however, is being uncharacteristically quiet.  After a couple minutes, Javert cracks open one eye to see that he’s no longer even in the room.  The door to the study is shut.  Javert’s eyes slip closed once more, though he feels a little uncertain.  Is Valjean now having doubts?  Should he, Javert, go to comfort him?  No, Valjean graciously gave him some space while he went through his crisis, and so he will now return the favour.

 

    Of course, Valjean is a very different man from Javert.  Perhaps he expects Javert to come chasing after him.  Perhaps he will not get through this without help.

 

    No, that’s not right.  Valjean is fine.  He’s probably just giving Javert some privacy.

 

    Javert loses himself in a drowsy sort of half-sleep.  Time slips by, unnoticed and unchecked.  His thoughts flit from one thing to the next, things that he never allows himself to think about consciously: his mother, dredged from the depths of his subconscience last night at the table; Valjean’s face over the years and into the afterlife, the changes and similarities between then and now; Valjean’s hands on his hips, urging his movements.

 

    An indeterminate amount of time later, he is roused by a hand sifting through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp.  He makes an embarrassing noise as the sensation sends goosebumps racing up and down his whole body.

 

    “And what have you been dreaming of, my dear?” asks Valjean’s voice teasingly.

 

    Javert pries his eyes open.  The tub has somehow, inexplicably grown larger...big enough, in fact, to accommodate two full-grown men.  The water level, however, has remained the same.  Javert snorts derisively, though he’s not sure who it’s aimed at: himself, Valjean, or this blasted place that makes his desires evident before he even is fully conscious of them.

 

    “Scoot over,” Valjean says.

 

    Javert does so readily enough, watching eagerly as Valjean pulls his shirt up over his head.  He has a good body, lean and well-muscled without being too extreme.  Not like Javert’s smaller, softer frame.  He does not look away as Valjean drops his trousers to the floor and steps carefully into the warm water, lowering himself down.  It’s a snug fit, but they adjust until they are comfortable enough; Valjean leans against the edge of the tub and pulls Javert into his lap, where he is free to run his hands through Javert’s hair at will.  Javert. for his part, uses the opportunity to run his hands over Valjean’s thighs and knees, picking out the most sensitive spots.

 

    If this is what sin feels like, Javert could get very used to it, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Show of hands, how many of you are as emotionally attached to Isabelle as I am?


	10. Lunch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isabelle would like everyone to know she loves everyone who replied to the last chapter. Except Alexa+Hiwatari. She would like you to know that horses are show-offs and dogs are arse-kissers. Also anyone who offered to worship her as a god, she says incense offerings are good but sacrificing sugar lumps is best. All the sugar lumps, please.

    “Well, now.  Look who it is.”

 

    Javert looks up from his work.  He is trying to find the source of one particularly rampant group of vines, to no avail; they seem to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.  Valjean is in the process of making some alterations to the cowshed.  They’re a good hundred feet away from each other, but Javert hears him just fine when he speaks up for the first time in a couple of hours (they tend not to be very chatty when they work, which suits Javert perfectly well).

 

    There is a person hurrying up the path to the garden gate, and who else could it be but Fantine?  She waves when she sees them watching her, though she is still too far away for them to make out her facial expression (ten to one odds that she is grinning, though, Javert guesses).  Both men move to greet her at the gate, and sure enough her smile is enough to outshine the sun.

 

    “Valjean,” she cries as she all but runs through the gate into his arms.  “Javert!”  She disentangles herself and throws her arms around Javert next, much to both men’s surprise and delight.  Before he can do much more than embrace her for a moment, however, she is already pulling away and twirling in circles to take everything in.  It’s been several weeks now since she left and they have been working steadily the whole time.  Well, most of the time.  There has been the occasional day where getting out of bed seems like too much effort and they will putter around doing the bare minimum chores, but those days always lead to a burst of guilty activity the next day, so Javert thinks it more or less balances out.

 

    “It looks great.  Things are really starting to take shape,” she gushes.

 

    That is both true and yet not true.  The areas around the cottage, cowshed, and chicken coop are beginning to look like a proper little homestead, but beyond that things are still a wild mess.  Javert anticipates several years’ worth of work ahead, especially since the winter months set them back a little bit in their schedules.  Now that spring is poking its head out, however, they’re stepping things up and trying to get back on track.  The property is huge - nearly fifty acres - every inch of which is or was covered in unruly vegetation.  And that’s not even including the forest, with its hidden unknowns (though Valjean has made several forays into its depths, so really it’s only unknown to Javert).

 

    “Do you bring us any news?” Javert asks, a little fearfully.  Has something happened to the child?  No, Fantine wouldn’t be so happy if that is why she were here.  Without even thinking of it or indeed noticing that he has done so, Javert moves closer to Valjean, who does notice and struggles to contain a smile.

 

    “Just that Cosette is thriving as a mother.  The child continues to grow well and Cosette is pregnant again.  She is due fairly soon.”  Never has another mother sounded so proud as Fantine in these moments.

 

    “What, already?” Javert asks, startled.  That doesn’t seem right.  He may not know much about...that sort of stuff, but he does know it takes thirty-six weeks for a baby to come to term and it cannot be good for the mother to become pregnant again so soon after giving birth.

 

    Fantine looks puzzled and glances at Valjean for clarification.  “How long has it been for you here?”

 

    “A few months,” Valjean says.  “Can’t have been more than half a year, at most.”

 

    Fantine laughs.  “Monsieur,” she reminds Javert gently, “time passes differently in different areas, depending on how you govern it.  It has been nearly two years in the land of the living.  Cosette’s first child is a strong and healthy little girl, in spite of her early problems.  She walks and talks better than any child her age.”

 

    “Do they anticipate the same problems with the second child?” Javert asks.  Valjean smiles warmly at him, apparently pleased at this display of concern.  Javert wonders if the man realises the reason he is so concerned is not to do with Cosette’s safety but whether or not Valjean will have to disappear from his side again.

 

    “No, no.  Well, yes...but this time they know what to watch for and how to help her if she struggles.”

 

    “Javert has been doing some renovations on the fabric of his Heaven,” Valjean tells Fantine.

 

    “He has?”

 

    “I have?”

 

    Valjean smiles at Javert in a way that makes him squirm.  Surely Fantine can read the message in that warmth and affection.  “Yes, he has, though I’m not sure he has realised.  I have been able to look in on Cosette and you, Fantine, for a few weeks now.  I’ve been keeping tabs on her and you as well.”

 

    Fantine ceases to exist for the moment as Javert faces Valjean squarely, more than a little perturbed.  “You have?  Since when?  Why did you not tell me?”

 

    “Since that day...the one where you and Isabelle had your little conference,” Valjean says.  The day they spent hours in the bath just relaxing and kissing and learning each other’s touches and caresses.  Javert unconsciously licks his lips.

 

    “That is why you disappeared into the study?”

 

    “Yes.  I assumed you knew, but when time passed and you never mentioned it, I realised perhaps you did not know what you had done.”

 

    “I had no idea.”

 

    Fantine clears her throat politely.  Javert drops his gaze and Valjean turns back to her, smiling sheepishly.

 

    “Why don’t we go inside?  It’s just about dinner time, and I think we still have some venison left,” Valjean says.

 

    Fantine agrees and they head for the cottage, Valjean and Fantine talking animatedly the whole time about various things Javert doesn’t bother to listen to.  He keeps trying to catch Valjean’s eye to figure out his intentions.  Does he mean to tell her about their relationship?  Hint at it and let her figure it out on her own?  Either option, Javert feels, would be a very bad idea.  He...does not exactly feel shame at their transgressions - after all, he has let himself be tempted and given himself up as lost forever.  He has made his choice and he stands by it.  Granted, they have not gone beyond occasionally pleasuring each other with hands and mouths, and mostly they carry on as before except that now they sleep in the same bed, but it is still a sin, and they have agreed to carry it out as long as they are both comfortable with what they are doing.

 

    But that does not mean they have to drag Fantine down with them.

 

    In spite of her past, she is, for all intents and purposes, an innocent soul.  Not only that but the horrors that were inflicted on her came from the depravity of men.  It may not have been the same sort of depravity Valjean and Javert find themselves currently embroiled in - quite the opposite in fact - but the truth remains that the sins of men all but destroyed Fantine in her life, why should they do the same in her death?

 

    Valjean, however, either does not notice Javert’s efforts to gain his attention or else he is ignoring him.  Fantine, on the other hand, sees him and gives him a questioning look.  He tries to smile reassuringly but if anything that makes her look more apprehensive.  Javert doesn’t do reassuring and he doesn’t know how to express emotions he doesn’t feel, so his smile comes across as more of a grimace.

 

    Inside, Valjean does a cursory job of washing his hands in the basin and then sets about fixing their dinner.  Javert takes longer, studiously scrubbing his hands and face, still trying to telepathically communicate with Valjean, who is chatting animatedly about winter and the effects it has had on various plants and wildlife in the woods.  Fantine is listening politely but her eyes are on Javert.  “That’s very interesting, Jean,” she says absently.  “Javert, how is Isabelle?  Is she taking proper care of you?”

 

    Javert pats his face dry with a rag.  “Isabelle is doing well.  Perfectly, perfectly...well.”

 

    “And you, Javert?” Fantine asks, her eyes wide.  “Are you well?”

 

    “Oh, very well.  Thank you.”

 

    “Are you certain?  I do not mean to pry, but you seem rather tense.  Have I come back at a bad time?  You’re not rowing, are you?”  She glances between the two men.

 

    Valjean pauses in his preparations and his eyes finally meet Javert’s.  They see the secret message, but his confusion belies the fact that he has no clue what Javert is trying to say.

 

    “Perhaps,” Valjean says slowly, “Javert has a secret he wishes all of us to be a party to?”

 

    “Javert most certainly does not.”  That is in fact the very opposite of what Javert bloody well wants, he does not say.

 

    Javert and Valjean stare at each other for several seconds, trying to silently communicate...what?  Valjean looks like he is trying to warn Javert about something, but he cannot for the life of him figure out what.  Is he telling Javert that he wishes to discuss their private life with Fantine?  Or is he warning Javert to keep his mouth shut?  Javert nearly growls with frustration; this never happens to them.  Normally they are able to communicate silently just fine, so what is it about this situation that is throwing them off?

 

    Fantine.

 

    Well, not Fantine solely because she has never thrown them off track so badly before, but more like Fantine in conjunction with their newfound relationship.

 

    Each man is so busy focusing on the other that neither of them see the understanding smile that creeps across Fantine’s lips.  They are so consumed with the should-they-shouldn’t-they question that their expressions give them away completely, thus negating the debate entirely.  “Oh mon précieux garçons,” she murmurs.  She takes Valjean’s face in her hands and presses a kiss to his brow.  She does the same for Javert, crossing the room to hold him close.  Her hands are delicate but there is a strength within them that Javert senses will far outlast either man.  In that moment, Javert can feel himself fall ever so slightly in love with her, and he knows that this is what Valjean has seen in her all along: the strength, the purity, the unconditional love and care for all of God’s creatures and creations, whether they deserve it or not.

 

    Javert clutches her hands in his and gently lowers them from his face.  He squeezes once and lets go.

 

    He should never have worried about dragging Fantine down to their level, he realises.  You cannot corrupt the incorruptible.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate everything this chapter chooses to be. Sorry. Even the title is uninspired and you all deserve better (although all chapter titles come from fanfic100 challenge table, so I was working with what I've got). Next chapter though...next chapter should have you all writhing on the ground. :DDD


	11. Too Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the light side of things, when I wrote this chapter I subtitled it "The One Where Valjean and Javert Nearly Get Kicked out of Heaven"  
> On the darker side of things, and please pay attention to this WARNING: my beta tells me this needs a dubcon notice. As the author I can assure you there's nothing dubcon, they're really into it, but...well just be warned. And try to keep in my the line about 'catharsis' as you read the iffy bits.

 

Valjean is a tactile creature, forever petting and caressing or touching Javert.  Even his eyes seem to lie with a physical weight when they rest on Javert.  Both men were starved for friendly or affectionate touches while alive, and now that they are dead Valjean is eager to make up for it, the same as he did when Cosette came into his life.  Javert tolerates it, but just barely.  He never craved physical affection the way Valjean did and he would be perfectly content to do away with such superfluous gestures now.  He does not bother explaining that, though, as he knows Valjean would not listen anyway.  If anything, he would increase the frequency, claiming Javert only protests because he does not know any better.  So Javert puts up with the hand on his back or the fingers that card through his hair, and if he starts looking forward to them or gets grumpy when he is forced to go longer than a day without so much as a brush of finger against finger, well it's not because Valjean was right.

 

When Valjean's hand meanders through his hair and comes to rest on the base of his skull, where it connects to his first vertebrae, Javert shies away.  He will tolerate touch anywhere but there.  Valjean never questions him but dutifully keeps his hands to himself for the next couple of hours until Javert seeks him out and silently encourages a pat on the shoulder or, if he is feeling needy, a kiss on the cheek.

 

One day Javert is sitting at the kitchen table, slicing apples for a tart while Valjean reclines another chair against the wall, reading a book.  They have not said anything for hours but occasionally Valjean's foot will flick out to knock against Javert's knee.  Javert speaks before he is even consciously aware that he will do so or that the matter has even been on his mind.

 

"I was not always here."

 

Valjean does not say anything, does not even look up from his book, but he gently sets his chair on all four feet and leans slightly forward to show he is listening.  Javert prefers it this way, and he hates that Valjean knows him well enough to know it.  He does not think he would be able to continue talking if Valjean were looking him in the eye.

 

"I mean, when I died.  I did not just wake up _here_."  He gestures at the cottage around them but they both know he means something more all-encompassing than that.  "I started out in Hell."

 

Valjean closes his book but does not look up.

 

“It is...was far worse than anything you can possibly imagine.  When I died, my neck broke so I could not feel anything as I drowned.  In Hell, though...I could feel every bone that broke when I hit the river.  I could feel the ribs that punctured my lung and the vertebrae that shattered with the impact.  I could feel the water rushing into my lungs and the helplessness of knowing you’re drowning and not being able to do anything about it.  But there was no relief of death, just endless pain and horror.  All around me were other souls who had taken their own lives, and they were eternally reliving their deaths.  Some shot themselves, some cut open their wrists or throats, some were drowning like me.  I could see the hopelessness and despair in their faces and it made me angry.  So angry.”

 

He stops, takes a deep, shuddering breath.  Valjean silently stands up and approaches behind him.  Javert closes his eyes as Valjean carefully brushes the hair off the nape of Javert’s neck and leans in.  He places a whisper of a kiss right where Javert’s neck had broke.

 

For a long moment, Javert cannot speak.  When he does, he is in command of his voice, but just barely; if Valjean hears him waver, he is too graceful to remember it later, let alone mention it.  “And then one day I just closed my eyes and I when I opened them, I was here.  The first thing I noticed was the smell.  Hell smells, as you might imagine, like sulfur, but it’s so much more than that.  It is shit and vomit and thousands of years of sweat and sickness and dying bodies and rot and blood and knowing you will be smelling it for all of eternity.  In life, sometimes you get used to a bad smell if you’re around it long enough, but not there.”  His nostrils flare as if he is smelling it right now, or maybe he is trying to maximize the amount of clean air entering his body.  “I don’t know...how...”

 

“I prayed for your soul,” Valjean says.  He does not move from his spot behind Javert, choosing to speak softly right next to his ear.  “When I arrived in Heaven, Fantine greeted me and showed me how to get by.  She showed me how I could spy on Earth.  Together we watched Cosette and Marius but as soon as I knew she was safe and in capable hands, I scoured all of France for you.  It felt strange to be in a place where you were not.  Even all those years when I was Monsieur Madeleine before you showed up, you were still there in my mind if only as an abstract notion of ‘the law.’  When Fantine learned what I was doing, she told me she had seen you die that same night as the failed revolution.  Right after you let me go.  Did you know it is possible to view any point in history you please?  Many souls here while away eternity by watching famous battles and critiquing them.  I watched you jump into the Seine again and again until it felt like I was going mad.

 

“I prayed for you then.  Fantine did as well, bless her.  I encountered a bishop I once knew, the man who saved me from myself many years ago.  I enlisted his help as well; he saved my soul, so I knew he would be a powerful ally if I were to save yours.  God never directly acknowledged our efforts, but one day after countless days of endless prayer, suddenly I knew you were nearby.  Fantine and Bishop Myriel did not feel it, but I just knew.  Fantine and I set out to find your private section.  It took us a while, mostly because you had isolated yourself so well, but we eventually found you.  And now all your sins are forgiven.”  He places a kiss on Javert’s left temple and embraces him, content to just stand here for some time, however long it takes for them to reach catharsis.

 

Javert sits quietly in his embrace for several long moments, but then he gradually tenses as he mulls over what Valjean has just said.  “ _All_ of my sins?” he repeats.

 

“Hmmm?”

 

Javert shifts, trying to look at Valjean’s face, but Valjean hasn’t loosened his grip.  “You said all of my sins are forgiven.”  There is an edge to his voice that makes Valjean let go and step back a pace.  Javert swings around to glare at him.

 

“They are.”  Valjean is bewildered.  “You wouldn’t be able to get into Heaven without-”

 

“I have committed no other sins.”

 

They stare at each other in steely confusion.  Valjean cannot understand how Javert could actually believe such a statement, while Javert finds his ire mounting at the idea that Valjean would insinuate anything other than what Javert says could be true.

 

“Those young men -” Valjean begins.

 

“Were breaking the law,” Javert says, standing up. “I followed the law to the letter.  Without law we would have chaos, and those _boys_ were trying to take away the king’s God-given right -”

 

Valjean scoffs.  “After the number of times you have tried to tell me God is dead, God does not care, that the inmates are running Bedlam here -”

 

“- _his God-given right to reign over the lesser men of the world_ -”

 

“-all they wanted was a better world, one where men are equal -”

 

“- _equality is a myth, men can never be equal_ -”

 

“-no man wants for anything, then no man would need steal -”

 

“- _men could have everything they desire and yet there would still be thieves, still be men like Thenardier who will swindle the world blind_ -”

 

“-compare those men to trash like Thenardier-”

 

“- _no regard for the law_ -”

 

“- **the law is corrupt**.”

 

The silence that follows is impenetrable.  Valjean knows he has crossed a line but he refuses to back down.  Javert’s jaw is working but no words are coming out; if he weren’t already dead Valjean would think he is having a heart attack.

 

“Nineteen years,” Valjean says quietly at last.  “Nineteen years for a lousy mouthful-”

 

“Five years,” Javert hisses.  “You only had to serve the five years and if you hadn’t-”

 

“Five years still far outweighs the crime,” Valjean cries.  “It was just a bit of bread, the total cost of which was less than a few francs.  Five years to work off such a debt is outrageous.”

 

“The point of the punishment is not to pay back the debt, it is to teach you not to commit the crime in the first place,” Javert says.  “A lesson you could never learn, apparently.”

 

“I was young and stupid and angry at the world.  What work I could find could barely feed me, let alone my sister and her children.  They would have died if I hadn’t done what I did.”

 

“And yet they died anyway, did they not?  Why prolong their misery?”

 

Rage the likes of which Valjean has not felt since many years before his death courses through his veins and he does not simply shove Javert, he bodily _throws_ him across the room.  Javert stumbles, nearly catches himself, falls.  Gets up.  His face is contorted beyond recognition with pure loathing and somehow they both can feel how they were heading towards this point all along, that Javert was perhaps right from the beginning and Valjean and Javert simply cannot exist in the same space.

 

Well, Valjean simply will not accept that.  He tries to keep his voice steady.  “Do not say things you do not mean, Javert,” he warns.

 

“Face it, Valjean,” Javert spits.  “Your actions - your life! - affected nothing, controlled nothing, were nothing.  You drive a woman to prostitution and when she dies you raise her child to believe you are some sort of saint.  Selfless Valjean, martyr Valjean, Lord Christ Valjean.  What happens when Cosette dies?  You and she and Fantine will exist together in Heaven for all eternity?  What happens when I tell them what you have been doing with me all this time?”

 

“Fantine knows, she doesn’t care-”

 

“But your precious little girl?  Will she be as forgiving as her mother?  What will she say when she learns her father is nothing more than a dirty, disgusting, perverted sodomite?”

 

Something in Valjean breaks to hear Javert talking to viciously about Cosette.  It is a thousand times more damaging than the insults and names he hurls at Valjean.  With a roar, Valjean launches through the air, intent on smashing the words right out of Javert’s head but before he takes so much as a full step, he finds himself staring at a solid wall of greenery.

 

For the first time ever, Valjean has been banished from Javert’s garden.

 

Valjean roars inarticulately once more and begins pounding, tearing, yanking, hacking at the foliage.  No no no no _no_ , he thinks.  No way will Javert simply throw him out like this, like they aren’t...like they haven’t....

 

It is futile, he knows.  No soul may enter another soul’s private Heaven without permission, and Javert has made it clear that Valjean no longer has his permission.  And yet, Valjean does not stop.  And yet, he cannot let it go.  And yet, he cannot stop howling in his head, in his heart, out loud for all of Heaven to hear if they choose.  He goes at it for hours with no progress.  Blood - actual blood for the first time since he died - courses down hands and over his wrists, and still he does not stop, does not take heed of what the presence of blood in Heaven must signify.  He does not even register it.

 

And then a hole appears.

 

It is a small hole, just barely large enough for his fist, but with sturdy determination and renewed vigour, he pushes and punches the hole until it becomes big enough for his head.  And then his torso.  And at last his whole body.  He tumbles ungracefully back into the garden.  It’s more overgrown and unruly than it has been in months, a physical representation of Javert’s current inner turmoil.  Valjean does not care; he does not consciously even see the state of the weeds and foliage as he tears up the path to the cottage.

 

Shockingly, Javert is exactly where he was when Valjean disappeared.  What felt like hours for Valjean must have been only minutes for Javert, if that.  His eyes widen to see Valjean slam open the door to the cottage and charge him like a raging bull.

 

“How -” he starts but before he can say anything more, Valjean is on him, knocking him to the floor, hitting him with his bloody fists.  It only takes Javert a split second before he is fighting back, and doing a pretty good job of it.  He lands several good shots on Valjean’s face, which only serves to further both of their rage.

 

“I kicked you out,” Javert screams.  “How did you get back in?”

 

Valjean does not answer.  He somehow manages to wrangle both of Javert’s fists above his head and lays his own body out on top of Javert’s.  Javert continues to struggle, but it is weaker now and they are both hard.  Valjean flips Javert over so that he is on his stomach, face pressed into the floor.  He shoves down both of their trousers just enough for his purposes.

 

It is fast and dirty and ugly.  Every time Javert attempts to get his hands under him to get his face off the floor, Valjean knocks him back down.  Javert’s utter humiliation is turning both of them on more than either cares to admit.  Javert can feel wetness dripping onto his back, but he knows souls do not sweat.  They do not bleed either, of course, but it is not every day that a soul rips apart the very fabric of the laws of Heaven.  Naturally, if anyone is going to disregard the laws of creation, it would be Valjean.

 

Just as he thinks neither of them will last much longer, Valjean bends forward and bites the spot on Javert’s neck, the one that is so sensitive, the spot where his spine snapped.  Javert howls and comes, and Valjean follows him into oblivion.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just...this is the chapter that started the whole thing. Yup. So...yeah.


	12. Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait until I had a couple more chapters finished before returning from my 'hiatus' but...I'm over my temper tantrum now so here we are. I wrote this one the same day I swore I was going on hiatus so obviously that didn't last long at all....I didn't want to post it until now though. Basically, this was written while I was still very angry and I pretty much chucked it at my blog and went to bed.

They don’t speak of it.

 

Valjean tries to, of course.  For two straight days he walks as though on eggshells and wears the look of a whipped dog.  He flinches when Javert moves too quickly as though Javert had been the one to attack _him_.  Several times he opens his mouth, clearly intent on uttering some sort of apology or begging for forgiveness, but every time Javert leaps in to loudly change the subject or else he turns around and simply walks away.

 

He cannot face the prospect of explaining what occurred within his head that night.  How good it felt to be out of control, how much he needed Valjean’s anger to cleanse away the last traces of animosity that Javert wasn’t even aware he still harboured.

 

How he hadn’t been aware how much he was still drowning until Valjean viciously yanked him from the waters of his own mind.

 

It was a release, but not just of a sexual sort.  There was that, yes, but there was also the relief one feels when a great pain subsides and leaves behind a steady thrum of pleasure.

 

But Javert dares not -- _can_ not -- divulge this to Valjean.  For one thing, he does not have the words to quite describe it.  For another, he knows it is something not a lot of people would understand, least of all Valjean.  While Javert isn’t ashamed of what he feels, he knows it is something he ought keep quiet about.  Lastly, he’d rather forget the whole thing happened.  He does not regret it.  Nor does he want it to ever occur again.  He is cleansed and refreshed and please God, if He is listening, that he never have the need of so drastic a purification again.

 

So Javert steadily avoids the subject and eventually Valjean gets the hint.  He stops tip-toeing and resumes his normal energetic countenance.  Only once more does he get that apologetic look in his eye and he opens his mouth.  Javert is about to turn and stalk away when Valjean’s voice stops him with words he isn’t expecting yet are not wholly unwelcome.

 

“I love you.”

 

Nothing more, nothing less.  A simple statement, not even a declaration or revelation.  A fact as nonchalant as “the sky is blue.”

 

Javert looks him over; Valjean is tense as though half expecting to be tossed out again.  Javert gives him one sharp nod, and he relaxes.  He can read the words in Javert’s eyes, the ones he cannot bear to say out loud.

 

_I love you, too._


	13. Triangle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title does not refer to a love-triangle, rest assured. That being said, this is where things start to hint at a new direction....perhaps? Pre-OT3.

“If you could go back and change one moment in your life,” Valjean says, “what would it be?”

They are sitting in the study, although nobody is reading.  Fantine showed up around noon bearing a bottle of wine.  “A gift,” she explained, “from a friend of my son-in-law.”  She nodded at Javert.  “He said you would remember him as one of the men you punched in the face after your discovery at the barricade.”

 

Javert had gingerly lifted the bottle from her hands as though it might explode.  “And so he sends it along, why?”

 

“It’s a congratulatory present for the birth of Cosette’s second child,” she explained (a surreptitious glance at Valjean on Javert’s part confirmed that this announcement was not news to him, much to Javert’s consternation -- he doesn’t like the idea that Valjean still keeps secrets from him).  “When I tried to decline, he suggested I share it with my...gentlemen friends.”

 

“I remember that particular boy,” Valjean said mildly.  “Something tells me that is not the only thing he suggested.”

 

Fantine’s face turned redder than one of Javert’s prized tomatoes.  Now there’s something to see -- a whore’s blush, Javert thought, not unkindly.

 

“Well,” he said, thrusting the bottle at Valjean, “I cannot say I am eager to sample his present, regardless of its intent.  I must say we have rather a poor track record with alcohol.”

 

Valjean laughed.  “I’d say we have actually a fantastic track record with alcohol.”

 

Then it was Javert’s turn to blush, much to his chagrin.  Fantine, bless her, looked puzzled but did not press the issue.  After a little more bickering and good-natured ribbing, it was decided that they would finish out the work day and at least try the wine with dinner.  If they did not like it, or if it acted too strongly on their systems, they agreed they would pour it out at once.

 

They discovered, however, that it was actually very impressive wine.  It had a soft flavour, not overpowering, and it did not go straight to their heads.  Fantine told them the boy had made it himself, but apparently he had a better knack for fermentation than either Valjean or Javert.  Each of them had a glassful with dinner and then took the bottle with them when they retired to the study, where now they relax, sipping wine and making idle conversation.  Valjean has claimed the armchair for himself, leaving the couch to Fantine and Javert.  Fantine has curled her legs up under her, tucking her dress primly around them, while Javert stretches out his legs into the space between them.

 

Now Javert twists his head to gauge Valjean’s mood.  He doesn’t seem terribly melancholy, just pensive, so why is he talking about regrets?  “Is there something in particular you are thinking of?” he asks, not a little apprehensively.  If he is thinking about that day...no.  They have put that well behind them, and he would never dream Valjean would bring it up in front of Fantine.  That is something that will remain between just the two of them for all eternity.

 

Valjean shrugs.  “Not really.  I was just curious.  People always regret something, don’t they?”

 

“I regret leaving my poor Cosette with the Thenardiers,” Fantine says.  “If I had been a little wiser to their tricks, perhaps things would have turned out differently.”

 

Valjean smiles sadly and reaches across Javert to place a hand on Fantine’s knee.  “If it makes you feel better, she barely remembers her time with them, other than one or two minor things.”

 

“But...” Javert begins, but the wine has made his thoughts a little fuzzy and it is difficult to string the chain of consequences that came from one event.  “If you had perhaps left your child with an honourable innkeeper, you would not have needed to pay so much.  You would not have received the letter that got you in trouble.  You would not have been fired, nor arrested, nor taken ill.”  He is muttering mostly to himself now, eyes downcast, as he continues, “Valjean of course still would have revealed his true identity but he would have no reason to escape his arrest.  He would have gone back to jail and then...?”  His eyes flit to Valjean’s, trying to imagine what he would have done then.  Would he have come to hate the world again?  Would he have returned to the bitter, unforgiving attitude he had during his first stint at Toulon?  He would not have his daughter to care for and therefore would not learn to open his heart, nor would he have been around to save Javert from the revolutionaries.  Their paths probably would never have crossed again.

 

And isn’t that a frightening thought?

 

And isn’t it frightening that Javert finds it so frightening?

 

Valjean, meanwhile, is nodding his agreement.  “You take away one piece of the puzzle and suddenly none of it makes sense.”

 

Javert blinks, bringing his wayward thoughts back to the matter at hand.  “Are you saying you regret nothing?”

 

Valjean thinks very carefully about this.  Javert sets aside his wine; he wants to be as alert as possible for his answer.  He swings his legs down off the couch and faces Valjean squarely.

 

“If there is one thing I regret,” Valjean says slowly, “it is that I could not convince you to accompany me to retrieve Cosette.”

 

“That was not your decision, it was mine.  And not one I regret, if I am honest,” Javert says.

 

“But if you had accompanied me, I would have gone quietly with you as promised,” Valjean reminds him.  “You would have your arrest.”  He smiles impishly.  “Or do you think I might have somehow convinced you along the way that I was a reformed man and worthy of the second chance I wrestled from fate for myself?”

 

Javert snorts.  “If all your time as Maire had not convinced me of such, why would three days travelling make any difference?”

 

“Because you saw me as a liar and a fraud when you discovered I was not really who I said I was.  But perhaps some time spent with the ‘real’ me....though I would act no different, perhaps you would see me differently,” Valjean says.

 

“And so you envision that perhaps at the end of the three days, I would...let you ride off with Cosette and never harass you again?  It is a pretty thought, Valjean, but one I doubt would have ever come to light.”

 

Valjean is staring thoughtfully at Javert, however, and something in his gaze makes Javert’s stomach flip, but not in an unpleasant way.  Javert can practically see what he is thinking right now: perhaps their magnetism would have manifested itself in a different way during their journey.  Perhaps in a way more akin to what they share now than the enmity they had on Earth.  Javert swallows but his mouth is dry, so he picks up his wineglass and takes a large drink.

 

“I take it, then,” Valjean says at last, “that you have no regrets, Javert?”  His voice is mild but there is a hint of a challenge therein.

 

Javert thinks for a moment.  “I suppose,” he says slowly, “there was one incident when I was about twenty.  I ate a piece of a pear even though I knew full well I did not like pears.  I thought perhaps my tastes had changed since childhood, and I was very wrong.  I can still taste that pear when I think about it.  It was, truly, a terrible decision.”

 

Fantine laughs and even Valjean cannot help the smile that creeps onto his face.  Javert smirks but then becomes serious once more.  “It is as you pointed out: one lost puzzle piece ruins the whole thing.  Something small would not change the course of our fate, but who would honestly regret the small decisions in life?  Is it not the large ones that we tell ourselves ‘if I could do it over again, I would do it differently’?  But those are what have brought us together - all three of us - and I would not change that for anything.”  He feels dizzy; he had not meant to reveal so much, but all of it is true.

 

Fantine reaches over to take his hand in hers.  Javert closes his eyes, revelling in its soft strength and the way she squeezes his fingers together.  There is a shifting on his other side and he feels Valjean pushing him over so that he may join them on the couch, clasping his hand over Fantine’s.  Javert leans into his lover’s body, and Fantine leans into him.  They stay like that for a long while, and then - with much throat clearing and gaze avoiding - they decide it is time to go to bed.  Valjean makes up the couch for Fantine to sleep on, and both men retire to the bedroom.

 

Javert definitely does not wonder what it would be like to bring Fantine to their bed and what Valjean’s reaction would be if he were to suggest it.


	14. Broken

“Do you want to know the truth?”

“Hmm. Always, but from you I have learnt not to expect it.”

“Never in my life would I have even dreamed us in bed together, let alone living peacefully as man and wife.”

“As long as you do not expect me to believe I am the wife in this situation.”

“I’m serious, Javert.”

“No. I would not have dreamed it either.”

“We each in Heaven have a duty to perform no matter how saintly our souls left the material world. Yours is to heal this patch of God’s land.”

“And yours?”

“Mine? I believe mine is to heal you.”

Silence.

“Let us hope it does not take all of eternity.”


	15. He

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS FIC HAS FANART. I AM DYING. BLESS YOU, KORDOVA. http://kordova.tumblr.com/post/46650768833 http://kordova.tumblr.com/post/47261458430
> 
> Okay, in other news, this is where we start to take a turn for OT3-ishness. They're not quite there yet, but Javert is definitely starting to hint at it. Feel free to abandon your reading if this makes you squick and come back around...chapter 20? 22? I'm not sure yet.

Of the three souls, Fantine is normally the most placid.  She will often watch the men bicker and smile good naturedly when they try to get her to take sides.  Or she will bear any teasing they aim at her with a laugh and a playful scolding.  She visits often, observes all, helps as much as she can.  She is closer to Valjean, naturally, but Javert and she share a good many qualities that make them comfortable companions.  Compared to either of them, though, she was a sturdy island in the clash of their ocean versus thundercloud.

****

So it came as a complete shock the day she came racing down the path to Javert’s garden, blinded by tears and barely able to speak for sobbing.

****

Javert goes to her side immediately, casting his eyes about for Valjean, even though he knows that Valjean is nowhere nearby; he is off in the woods for a bit of hunting and quiet contemplation.  “What is it?” he asks, taking her by the shoulders.  She throws herself into his arms, nearly collapsing her full weight onto him.  “Is it the girl?  Is it your Cosette?  Her husband?  Her daughters?”  To each query, she shakes her head, sobbing harder.

****

Javert closes his eyes and prays -- hard -- for Valjean to return immediately.  For good measure, he sends a few thoughts directly to Valjean; perhaps, like in the way they can sense when each other is near, they can also sense when the other is in desperate need of assistance.

****

“There now, my dear,” Javert says clumsily.  He draws her towards the cottage, fending off Isabelle who has come over to see what the matter is and if she can help by licking Fantine’s sleeve.  “It can’t be all that bad if everyone in your family is okay.”

****

Fantine draws a hiccuping breath, but she is trembling so hard she can barely walk and Javert ends up carrying her most of the way.  He takes her into the study and lays her out on the couch, smoothing her hair off her face so he can look into her eyes.  He is frightened; she has not been so out of control since that night she attacked Bamatabois, and she was on the verge of dying then.  Can a soul already dead somehow die again?  Where is God’s precious mercy that Valjean is forever touting now that this soul who has already suffered enough is deep in the throes of agony once more?  He tries to leave to make some tea to soothe her, but she grabs his arm and pulls him back down, clinging to him with all the strength she has.

****

“Javert?”  Valjean comes bursting into the cottage, bewildered and scared.  “Is everything alr-”  He stops and comes into the study.  “Fantine?  What has happened?”

****

Javert assumes this question is directed at him because Fantine is clearly in no condition to answer.  “She has not said.  She is beside herself.  Can you come and sit with her while I make some tea?”

****

Javert expects him to take his place, but instead Valjean goes to the end of the couch where Fantine’s head lays and lifts it so that he may slide under her and rest her head on his lap.  He brushes her hair down and combs his fingers through it, saying “hush, hush” quietly.

****

Javert carefully pries her fingers from his arm and makes his escape.  Let Valjean deal with the emotional side of things while he takes care of the practical: tea and biscuits and shutting the front door so that Isabelle doesn’t try to come into the cottage.  A loud, enraged moo tells him she is not happy about being kept in the dark when one of her friends is distraught, but Javert does not have the patience to deal with her right now.  He stokes the fire and paces back and forth, waiting for the water to boil.  Fantine’s whole existence centers around her daughter and her daughter’s family.  If nothing has happened to them, then what could have gotten Fantine so worked up?  She is friendly with those revolutionaries because of their connection to her son-in-law...but surely she is not so attached to them that any misfortune of theirs would reduce her to this state.

****

Javert finds himself wishing, for the first time since arriving in Heaven, that he had some place high up where he could go to think.  He always did his best thinking when he could look down on the rest of the world, and it occurs to him that he has been so content here that he has not needed a place like that.  It surprises him to realise.  Not even when his relationship with Valjean was at its worst did he feel the urge to climb on top of the cowshed for some isolated introspection.  Javert glances through the study door, where he can just make out Fantine’s feet at the end of the couch.  He places one foot directly in front of the other in a mockery of all the times he paced on a wall high above the ground.

****

Before he can do anything else, however, the water begins to boil and he prepares the tea.  He places the biscuits, sugar, and cream on a tray, then adds the teapot and three cups.  When he carries all this into the study, Fantine has calmed down enough that she is no longer sobbing uncontrollably, though from the way her lips are clamped so tight they have turned white, she probably has not said anything either.  A glance at Valjean confirms this suspicion when Valjean shakes his head slightly.  

****

Javert helps Fantine to sit up and lean against Valjean for support, then he pours her tea exactly how he knows she likes it.  He hands it to her, but she is still shaking violently so Valjean reaches around to cup his hand around hers and help her keep it steady.  Javert pours tea for himself and Valjean, setting Valjean’s within his reach so that he can get it when Fantine no longer needs his help.  He contemplates sitting in the armchair for a split second before he lifts Fantine’s feet and slides underneath them.  Valjean smiles encouragingly at this unprompted display of affection; Javert pretends not to notice and smooths Fantine’s dress down so that her ankles are covered.

****

Gradually, Fantine’s trembling subsides and Valjean is able to let her go and pick up his own tea.  By the time she drains the last bits from her cup, she looks less like a half-drowned cat, though her eyes are drooping with exhaustion.  Javert takes her cup from her and sets it on the tray.  “Do you wish to talk of it?” he asks quietly, not looking her in the eye.

****

Fantine draws in a large breath and lets it out slowly through her teeth.  “I saw Tholomyès today.  Here, in Heaven.”

****

Javert is at a loss.  He looks to Valjean for guidance, but Valjean is frowning at the armchair; the name means something to him, but he cannot quite place it.  Then, suddenly, his face grows bright red with fury, and Javert nearly leaps up in alarm.

****

“Cosette’s father?  Here?  In Heaven?”  Spittle flies from his mouth as he hisses the words.  Javert understands now.  The man who abandoned his mistress and young child in a cruel joke.

****

“Where did you see him?” Javert asks.  He reaches along the back of the couch to grasp Valjean’s shoulder in a silent entreaty not to make this any worse than it already is.

****

“My son-in-law’s friends...one of them has befriended him.  I do not know how they met...some people treat Heaven very differently than we do.  But they did meet and they became quick friends.  I thought I would go to visit them for a while, and I saw him...” She chokes but quickly recovers herself.  “He did not recognise me at first.  I thought I might faint to see him sitting there with my son-in-law’s friends drinking and laughing.  One or two of them rushed to my aid and he...he said, ‘Good mademoiselle, are you alright?  Is there something I might get for you?  Good God, if she were not already dead one might think she’s about to die of fright!’”

****

Javert’s hands both tighten, one on Fantine’s ankle for silent support and one on Valjean’s shoulder for restraint.

****

Fantine continues, “I said, ‘You mock me, sir, with your pretty words, but then you did always have a way with pretty things, did you not?’  His eyes grew wide then and I could see the recognition in them, but he still had not placed me.  ‘Please,’ he said softly, ‘I can see you knew me in my youth, when I was a bit of a scoundrel.  Believe me when I say I have changed for the better.’”

****

Javert growled, “I hope you spit in his face.”

****

Fantine does not smile, but she sounds less tense as she goes on.  “I would have if my mouth hadn’t been bone-dry.  I asked him, ‘Does the name Fantine mean anything to you or did you cast the memory aside as easily as you did me?’  That got him.  He remembered me, and quite vividly so by the look on his face.  That’s when the boys all started to rally behind me, including the one who called him friend, Courfeyrac.  They said perhaps it was time for him to be moving along and perhaps he should not be coming around anymore.  They tried to help me, but I was too distraught; I turned and ran straight here.”

****

“Hush now,” Valjean says, rubbing her back.  “You’re here now.  He can’t get to you here.”  He shifts behind her so that he is also facing sideways on the couch and pulls her so that she is lying back against his chest.  He wraps his arms around her and cradles her just like he did countless times with Cosette after a nightmare.  Javert, completely at a loss, erratically rubs Fantine’s feet.  Eventually her breath evens out and she falls asleep.

****

Valjean and Javert exchange a look.  Javert carefully eases himself out from under her first, then helps Valjean do the same.  She whimpers once but then is silent, curling in around herself.  They leave the study, gently shutting the door behind them.

****

Valjean lets out a long, hissing breath.  “It never occurred to me that...that a merciful God could be a bad thing.  That it could end up causing anyone pain.”

****

Javert bites his tongue to keep from saying anything rash.  Now is not the time to gloat.  Instead, he takes a moment and then says, “What can we do for her?”

****

Valjean sighs.  “I don’t know that there is anything.  With any luck he will not be coming around the boys anymore, but eternity is a long time to avoid someone.”

****

“I’d bet I could go all of eternity without seeing a good many people I would not wish to,” Javert counters.

****

“Yes well Fantine isn’t a hermit like you,” Valjean snaps.  He closes his eyes.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean that.  I just keep thinking how I would feel if someone who had wronged me so badly somehow managed to get into Heaven; Thenardier, for example.”

****

“Not even Thenardier could manage to scheme his way into Heaven.”  Javert goes outside to begin to collect water.

****

“Yes, but that’s just my point.  We assume he could not, but then one day what if he shows up?  Say he repented at the last minute and God saw it fit to allow him the benefit of the doubt?” Valjean says.  “What are you doing?”

****

Javert brings in more water.  “Drawing a bath for Fantine.  It’ll keep until she wakes up.  Find those good herbs, the ones that could revive the dead.”  Valjean disappears into the pantry.  “And I don’t think you ought to be worrying about Thenardier,” Javert calls after him.  “Not even God is a big enough fool to allow that slippery ball of scum to hoodwink him.”

****

Valjean reappears, herbs in hand.  “It’s just an example.  An exaggeration, maybe, but you see what I am saying?  How would you feel if one day you looked up and your mother or father were standing outside your garden gate?”

****

Javert busies himself with the bathwater, hiding his face from Valjean.  He doesn’t want him to know how badly that question stung.

****

Valjean comes up behind him and puts a hand on his back, comforting.  “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.  “That was out of line.  But it gets my point across.”

****

Javert straightens.  “Yes, it does.  You finish this, I’m going outside.  I need to think.”

****

Valjean stops him with a hand on his face and draws him in for a kiss.  “Don’t be cross, love.  Or actually, do be cross, but not with me.  Direct your anger where it belongs.”

****

“I am,” Javert assures him.  “Come get me when she’s awake.”

****

He goes outside to comfort Isabelle and let her know what’s going on.  She blows a ball of snot at the ground when he tells her about Tholomyès.  He resumes the work he left off when Fantine arrived but he cannot concentrate very well; his thoughts keep wandering what they can do to help her put this man behind her once and for all.  After a couple of hours the cottage door opens and Valjean gestures for him to come inside.  Fantine is sitting on the edge of the tub, trailing her hand through the water; her eyes are still red-rimmed but she is smiling gratefully.  How anyone could have tossed aside such a lovely woman is beyond Javert’s comprehension.

****

“We will get you through this,” Javert tells her steadily.  “But in order to do so, I need you to do something that will be very difficult.”

****

The smile drops, but her expression is resolute.  “What is it?”

****

“Find him.  Bring him here.”  Javert glances at Valjean.  “We shall deal with the rest.”

****

They both stare at him, shocked.  “Bring him here?” Fantine repeats.  She looks from one man to the other, clearly nonplussed.  Unfortunately, Valjean seems to be in the exact same position as her; neither of them have any idea what Javert means by ‘deal with’ him.

****

“I will make sure he is able to enter.  If I am unable, we can go out to meet him right outside the border.  Make a nice picnic lunch, perhaps.”  His lip curls unpleasantly.  “Get to know our dear friend’s old acquaintance -- how could he say no?”

****

Fantine is smiling again, though a bit apprehensively.  Valjean, however, still looks uncertain.  “Perhaps I should be the one to go invite him,” he says.  “I could speak with Courfeyrac, find out where...”

****

“No,” Fantine assures him.  “I can do it.”  She reaches out to take Javert’s hand.  “Thank you.  You won’t be too hard on him, will you?”

****

“I promise I will only be as hard on him as he deserves,” Javert vows, silently thinking that kicking his arse straight to Hell wouldn’t even be as hard as he deserves.

****

Valjean helps Fantine out of her dress, leaving her in just her undergarments.  Javert twitches the hanging curtain closed for privacy, and both men exit the cottage, assuring her that they will be able to hear if she calls for help.

****

-

****

It takes nearly a week for Fantine to summon up the courage to contact Tholomyès, and even then she cannot bring herself to speak with him face-to-face.  Instead, she asks Valjean to write a letter for Courfeyrac to pass along to Félix.  Upon Javert’s instruction, it is concise and vague, saying only that she would like to put the past behind them and catch up, and that her friends would like to meet him.

****

“Will he know how to find this place?” Valjean asks, hesitating mid-sentence

****

“I think so,” Fantine says, but she does not sound altogether certain.  “Javert keeps it hidden enough that unsuspecting people can’t mistakenly wander past, but if he’s expecting someone...”

****

Valjean looks at Javert, who is reading over his shoulder as he writes.  So much of this rests on Javert’s shoulders, and to be honest, he has been very secretive about why he even wants to meet Félix Tholomyès in the first place.  “I was never expecting either of you, but you managed to find this place just fine,” Javert says mildly.  “It won’t be a problem.”

****

This whole turn of events has wrought several changes in all three of them.  Fantine and Valjean are jumpy and more easily irritated; Fantine has taken to spending all her time with them, taking over the study as her own bedroom, while Valjean spends more and more time each day out in the woods and often will wake two, three times in the middle of the night.

****

Javert, though...Javert has once more become the tiger at the end of the hunt, one he didn’t even know he was on.  His smiles show far more teeth than necessary and he chuckles with ill humour when either of his friends ask why he is insisting on going through with this.  This poor excuse of a man insulted Fantine in life and now in death his presence in Heaven is an insult to both Fantine and Valjean, and Javert is not the sort of man who ever lets insults slide.

****

“How will he know what time to show up?” Fantine asks now.

****

Hmm, Javert hadn’t thought of that.  Time’s varying nature throughout Heaven could be tricky; what’s to stop him from showing up in the middle of the night?  “Tell him to come as soon as he receives the letter.  That will at least give us an estimated time of arrival, assuming this Courfeyrac is able to deliver it promptly.”

****

In the end, it works.  Javert feels a unpleasant itching in the back of his head one late morning while he is tending to some plants, and he has enough time to call out to Valjean and warn Fantine.  They hurriedly wash up and dress in their best clothing (Valjean had procured some extra dresses for Fantine when it became clear she wasn’t going anywhere any time soon).  It’s not much - they prefer simple things - but the food Fantine sets out is beyond magnificent, and all of it came either from the garden or the woods.

****

There is a screaming anxiety deep inside of Javert.  It’s the first time he has opened his home to someone since Fantine, and the first time doing so for a stranger.  When he catches sight of his prey coming down the walkway, however, all doubt is banished from his mind.  He grabs the extra chair they have never used before and puts it at its place around the table, then gestures for Valjean and Fantine to comes with him to greet Tholomyès at the gate.  Javert takes Fantine by the arm while Valjean brings up the rear.

****

“Monsieur Félix Tholomyès,” Fantine murmurs, avoiding his eyes as she opens the gate for him.  “May I introduce you to my friends.  This is Monsieur Jean Valjean, and this is Monsieur l'inspecteur Javert.”

****

“An Inspector?” Tholomyès laughs, though it is uneasy.  Now that he is here, staring into the cold eyes of Javert and Valjean, he has sensed the trap right before it closes around him.  “Does Heaven need inspectors?”

****

“Hmmm.  I suppose not,” Javert says.  “Then again...” He looks Tholomyés up and down.  “Perhaps God does not do as good a job at keeping the riff-raff out as one might have hoped.”

****

Tholomyés’ face falls and Javert smiles pleasantly as though he meant no harm.

****

“But where are my manners, sir.  Please do come in.  Fantine has prepared the most sumptuous meal for us.”

****

Still holding Fantine’s arm, he leads the way to the cottage.  Valjean bows mockingly to Tholomyés and gestures him to go ahead.  Isabelle blessedly stays out of the way, though she does moo loudly, startling Tholomyés, who was apparently not expecting any barnyard animals.

****

“This is a lovely place,” he ventures at one point.

****

Javert and Valjean trade glances past their guest, who has paused to examine some flowers.  Javert is smirking and Valjean is trying his best to be stern and keep Javert from doing anything too damaging, but in truth he enjoys seeing Javert’s hunting prowess - if he may be allowed to call it that - directed at someone else for a change.

****

They sit down at the table, one person on each side.  Valjean and Javert sit so that they are facing each other; this has the unfortunate consequence of Fantine having to face Tholomyés directly but Javert and Valjean both unconsciously scoot their chairs closer to her so that it is more like the three of them facing the one of him.  If he was not feeling nervous before, he is now.

****

Javert is nothing but pleasant throughout the meal.  Valjean keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, but Javert is nothing if not an artist when it comes to interrogation.  He knows to wait for the perfect moment before sinking his teeth into his trembling quarry.

****

There is wine (Grantaire sent some along with Fantine after she gave the note to Courfeyrac) but none of them drink very liberally.  They eat mostly in silence, although Tholomyés makes a few attempts at conversation.  When they at last are finished, Javert sits back in his chair - practically lounges in it, really - and regards the man before him.

****

“So,” he says, still quite pleasantly, “you are Euphrasie’s father.”

****

All the colour drains from Tholomyés face before rushing back in a furious blush.  “I am,” he says, attempting to sound steady.

****

Javert glances at Valjean.  “Looks like you have won the bet, Jean.  I was so sure he would deny it.”

****

There is no bet, but fortunately Valjean is quick on the uptake.  “I was confident he would not.  He would have to be a monster to deny something as precious as Euphrasie.”

****

“A monster...” Javert contemplates this.  “Yes, that is a good word.  What is the word you would call someone who does not deny his bastard child but does abandon her and her poor mother instead?”

****

“Hmmm...I do believe I would call that despicable.”

****

Tholomyés stares from one man to the next, then looks accusingly at Fantine.  Her gaze never wavers, though, and he is the first to look away.

****

“Despicable.”  Javert tastes the word to see how it sounds in his mouth.  “I’m not sure it’s harsh enough.  Vile, perhaps?”

****

“Vile is good,” Valjean agrees.

****

Tholomyés starts to stand.  “I did not come here to be mocked, gentlemen.”

****

“No?  Then why did you come?  What possessed you to accept an invitation to dine with your former mistress?” Javert growls.

****

“To make amends,” Tholomyés snarls back, though he lacks Javert’s force of presence.  “I am a reformed man, I paid my penance, I confessed all my sins and changed my life for the better.  After that, it sat ill with me what I did to Fantine and Euphrasie, but I could not find them to help them.”

****

Javert snorts.  “You know,” he says to Valjean as though he has not heard a word of this, “I am almost glad of what this scoundrel did.  Or else you would never have been the one to raise Cosette and God only knows how she would have turned out with this man as an influence.”

****

Tholomyés draws himself up to his full height, trying to intimidate Javert, but Javert remains seated and looks at him with a bored smirk on his face.  “Think of me what you will, Monsieur, but in the eyes of God I am absolved.  And His is the only judgement that matters.”  He begins to leave.

****

“Wait.”

****

Fantine’s voice is small but steady.  Tholomyés looks back at her, contempt writ all over his face but she does not flinch.  She meets his eyes as she says, “I have some conditions for you.”  She stands up and goes around the table.  “You are not to watch over Cosette while she remains on Earth.  Even when she passes away - may it be many years from now - you are to have no contact with her for all of eternity.  She may be of your seed, but she is of my blood and sweat and tears and labour.  And she is of Valjean’s as well.  He raised her to be the woman she is today, not you.  You are nothing to her, and you never will be.”  She turns and walks into the bedroom, shuts the door.

****

“Shall I see you to the gate?” Javert asks pleasantly, a vicious twist to his lips belying his voice.

****

Tholomyés snarls wordlessly and storms out of the cottage.  Valjean goes to the door to watch his progress.  “It might have been kinder to just banish him,” he tells Javert.  “I think Isabelle is trying to intercept him to give him a good kick.”

****

“Let her.”  Javert stands and goes to the bedroom door.  He knocks lightly.  “Fantine?”

****

“Come in.”

****

He expects her to be crying, but she is not.  She is sitting on the edge of their bed, beaming up at him.  She looks lighter than he has seen her all week, maybe ever.  She starts to stand up, but he gestures her back down and sits next to her.

****

“I’m sorry, I...this room was closer and I needed a quick escape.”

****

“It’s fine.”  He puts his arm around her and draws her close, tucking her head under his chin.  In the main area they can hear Valjean washing up the dishes.  They stay like that for several long minutes, just thinking.  Fantine sniffles a couple of times, but she still does not cry.

****

At last she says, “Thank you.  You really shouldn’t have gone to all the trouble, but I do appreciate it.”

****

“It was no trouble,” he assures her.  He hesitates.  If this were Valjean, he would have no problem saying what is on his mind, but Fantine....  Fantine will understand, he tells himself.  “I have no tolerance for fathers who abandon their children.”

****

She peers up at him through her eyelashes.  “Your father...?”

****

“No, not exactly.  He was a criminal sentenced to the galleys.  But I still...see something of myself in the children of the gutter.”

****

Fantine pulls away.  “Cosette was never-” she begins hotly.

****

“No, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean...”  He curses himself silently.

****

Fantine calms down and curls up against Javert once more.  “Forgive me,” she says.  “I’m still a little on-edge.”

****

Valjean enters the room, drying his hands.  When he sees them cuddling, he smiles warmly.  “Now isn’t that lovely?” he says, but it is not mocking, it’s...almost wistful, Javert thinks.  He meets Valjean’s eyes over Fantine’s head and gives him a knowing, accepting nod.

****

Fantine will not be going anywhere any time soon.  She will live with them at the cottage and - if she agrees - she won’t be sleeping in the study anymore.

 


	16. Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 80% OT3 smut. Be warned (but seriously guys at least give it a shot). Fantine deserves to have two uberhot middle-aged French men worshiping the ground she walks on, wouldn't you agree? (Especially after the difficult time she had, with Tholomyes last chapter and all.)

It is one thing for two lovers to agree they wish to bring a third into their bed, it is something else entirely to actually persuade said third person to go along with it.

 

Especially when that person is Fantine.

 

Pure, precious Fantine, whom Javert not so long ago wished to keep as far from their carnal pursuits as possible.  It is difficult to reconcile that old impulse with this newfound desire, but maybe it has something to do with how protective he feels for her, knowing that outside his borders there are things and people who can hurt her still.  Or maybe it’s his curiosity about how it would differ to be with her versus Valjean - or God help him, both at the same time.  Or maybe it’s the way he knows she looks at them sometimes when she thinks they don’t know she is watching - the way she longs for the sort of affection they show each other.  Little does she know she may have it at any moment if she were to ask.

 

But who is he trying to fool, really?  He knows it has everything to do with the memory of how strong her hands are when she touches him.  He longs for that strength.  Valjean is powerful, yes.  That is undeniable.  But the strength that runs through Fantine is somehow different.  If pressed to explain, Javert doubts he would be able to, but it has something to do with how delicate they look juxtaposed with their concealed potency.

 

He’s not sure that would make any sense to anyone but himself.

 

They agree that Valjean should be the one to gauge her willingness.  Javert thinks a direct approach would be best (“Fantine, we have a proposition for you; you may accept or reject it as you feel appropriate, and if you choose to reject it, we shall continue on as we always have”) but Valjean persuades him that maybe seduction would be a better route.

 

The problem is that neither of them have ever seduced a woman before.

 

They agree that getting her drunk would be a bad idea.  Valjean won’t just come right out and ask her.  Approaching her together might work, but she might feel like they are ganging up on her or pressuring her.  Or, worse, wanting to use her for their own purposes for one night only to toss her aside when they are done.  On the other hand, if one of them (Valjean) were to approach her on his own, it might feel like this is not both of their idea.

 

Javert hates all this wishy-washy indecision.

 

“You speak with her,” he says.  “On your own.  She trusts you completely, and it will sound better coming from you.”

 

“She trusts you, too, you know,” Valjean says.

 

That is really neither here nor there, but he does not say that.

 

They have made absolutely zero progress when Fate apparently decides to give them a push forward.

 

One evening, Fantine is in the study, arranging some flowers that she picked from the garden (after asking Javert if they were anything he was particularly attached to).  Javert is sitting at the kitchen table, keeping an eye on some meat that is supposed to be cooling off on the kitchen counter; Fantine has been roasting it all day and it smells divine.  Valjean was out in the woods for the better part of the day, but now he comes stumbling inside, all worn out because he found a patch of wild edible mushrooms that he happens to know are Javert’s favourite but were virtually impossible to get to.  Javert is torn between smirking at him and feeling exasperated that he would go to so much trouble, especially when he notices something on Valjean’s back.

 

“You’ve ripped your shirt.”

 

Valjean pauses mid-sentence and blinks at him, uncomprehending.  “What?”

 

Javert gestures at his back.  You’ve gone and ripped your shirt.  Probably when you were picking those mushrooms, knowing you.  Shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.”

 

Valjean cranes his neck around to look at his back and sure enough there is a large gash in his shirt.  “Of all the blasted....”  He sighs.  “I’ll have to mend it later.  Right now I just want to bathe and relax.”  When no reply is forthcoming, he glances over at Javert, who has a pensive look in his eyes.  Valjean smiles to himself; whatever fantasies his lover has lost himself to must be good because he has become completely oblivious to everything around him.

 

And he’s not the only one, it seems.  A small noise comes from the study doorway and Valjean looks over to see that Fantine is watching Javert intently, also completely unheeding of Valjean’s eyes on her.  He looks back at Javert, trying to catch his lover’s gaze.  After a moment, Javert’s eyes become clear again and he begins to look sheepish, but Valjean silently directs his gaze over to Fantine and the sheep becomes the wolf.  Well, no...not wolf.  Javert does not want to devour her, at least not that way.

 

Javert clears his throat, startling Fantine.  “What were you imagining just now?” he asks her, his voice deep and gravelly.  Valjean’s breath catches; he is supposed to be the seductor, not Javert.  But that voice...if Valjean had not already fallen head over heels for this man, he certainly would have at the sound of that voice.

 

“I wasn’t...” she begins, but she knows she is caught.  She tries for a defensive tone.  “You two have made no secret of your affection for each other.  I was just wondering...”  She cannot quite look either of them in the eye, but she keeps her head up defiantly.

 

“Wondering?” Javert prompts.

 

“What it would be like,” she finishes after just the briefest of hesitations.

 

“Do you do that often?” he asks.

 

“What, wonder?”  She is bright red in the fading daylight but she holds herself together admirably.

 

“Wonder...”  He looks her up and down.  “Imagine...”

 

Valjean cannot believe what is happening right before his own eyes.  His slightly-awkward, repressed Javert has been replaced by this...this purring tomcat.  Valjean swallows hard, afraid to even move in case it breaks the strange spell that has been cast over the room.

 

Fantine makes no reply, so Javert continues, “What, pray tell, do you imagine at night, all alone in the study?  Are the walls so thin you can hear us?”

 

Fantine shakes her head.  “No.  Only if - only if you are being very loud.  Which you are sometimes, but not often.”

 

Valjean feels he must jump in or else he will explode right then and there.  “We can show you,” he says and who can blame him if his voice is just a little strangled.  “You tell us what you have imagined and we shall act it out for you.”

 

Fantine hesitates.  Javert, who has kept his eyes unwaveringly focused on her face, sees the doubt in her eyes.  “Or,” he says, “I will tell you what we do alone in the dark together and you and Valjean can act it out.”

 

A shudder ripples through Fantine.  “Yes,” she whispers.

 

Javert shifts in his seat, adjusting himself.  This is going to take a while, he can already tell; might as well make himself as comfortable as possible.  Fantine steps towards Valjean, her expression beautifully determined.

 

“Before we begin, you should know about our word,” Javert says her.  “If anything makes you uncomfortable, you just say the word and we stop, no matter what.”

 

Far from being reassured, Fantine looks vaguely alarmed.  “You two need such a thing between you?”

 

Valjean shoots a look at Javert, apprehensive.  Javert, however, keeps a level head.  “It is just a precaution.  You never know when it might be needed.  We have never had cause to use it, if that makes you feel better.”

 

“What is the word?”

 

Javert finally looks away from Fantine, catching Valjean’s eye for just a moment.  This is possibly the most intimate thing they have ever shared with her, and he has to make sure they are both ready for it.  “Toulon.”

 

Fantine grimaces.  She recognises the impact that word would have on either man, how quickly it would cut through whatever thoughts or feelings were going through his head and bring him to a full stop immediately.  It had been Valjean’s idea, both to have a word and the use of that particular one.  Javert agreed that it was a good precaution, especially since neither man had any experience and everything they did was so new.

 

“Are we ready?”

 

Valjean and Fantine both nod.  Fantine glances at the bedroom, but before she can say anything Javert interrupts, “No, not yet.  You’re my token for the evening, my mouthpiece.  Or would that be handpiece?  Either way, you are standing in for me and I sometimes cannot wait until bedtime before I begin, isn’t that so, Jean?”

 

Valjean grins.  “That is so.”

 

Javert sits forward, considering.  Sometimes they take a bath together and things will proceed from there, but that would be getting to the good stuff too quickly for his tastes tonight.  He wants this to last, to test the very edges of their patience, including his own.  He decides to start with the fantasies he had been thinking of earlier and proceed as though Fantine had not been there to interrupt.  Not, he thinks, that he regrets her being there.  He just means that were she not a consideration in the whole matter, he and Valjean would probably already be fucking on the bed right about now.

 

“Valjean has just come in from the woods.  We should be eating right now, but you - and by you I mean I, we are one and the same now, from now on you are me by all rights - notice he has ripped his shirt.  You know he will ask you to mend it since he is useless with a needle, and you will do so eventually, but not tonight.  You are hungry, but not for food, not right now.  You can see his muscles peeking out from under the rip and you can no longer think straight, he always has that effect on you.”

 

Fantine’s hands are fidgeting with a desire Javert knows all too well - to reach out and touch and possess and take, but she restrains herself and waits for instruction.  She swallows convulsively.

 

“He begins to take off his shirt, but you stop him.”  There is a pause.  Valjean seems to have forgotten his role in this and is just standing there like an idiot.  When the silence reaches a crescendo, he looks at Javert, confused, then realisation dawns.  He starts to take off his shirt, and Fantine nearly leaps on him to stop him, afraid of missing her cue.  Javert winces.  “Easy now.  A touch will do.  He is receptive to your moods and desires.  You touch his arm to stay his actions, and he waits breathlessly for instruction.  You pull his head down for a kiss.”  She does so, looking at Javert out of the corner of her eye and the look shoots right to Javert’s groin.  He crosses his legs tight, trying to regain control.  “Touch him.  You can’t keep your hands off him.  Just his torso for now, his neck and shoulders and stomach, all above the shirt.

 

“You reach around to the back and your hands find the rip in the fabric.  You wonder if you can rip the shirt right off him, but that would be a waste.  Instead, you poke one hand through the hole and ghost your hand over his skin.  It drives him wild, that barely-there touch - there, you see how he jumps!”

 

Valjean grabs Fantine’s hips and brings her in close, rocking against her.  This gives Javert the distinct disadvantage of no longer being able to see his arousal but he can imagine what it feels like.  He loves the feel of Valjean’s strength against his pelvis, the guiding, grasping hands taking charge.

 

“You have him on edge, and now whatever shall you do with him?  You want to pull his shirt off, but that would require stopping kissing, and that’s not something you want right now.  You want to devour him whole, pull his entire being inside of yours so that you can no longer be separate.  You are two parts of the same soul, and to be without him is unthinkable.  You-”  He swallows.  He hadn’t meant to say so much, and now Valjean’s eyes are on him.  They have ceased kissing, and Valjean is cradling Fantine’s head against his chest, but he is looking at Javert with that _look_ in his eyes and nonono this is all wrong tonight is supposed to be all about Fantine and seducing her into their bed.  Showing her she is part of them as well, that they cannot be without her and she without them.

 

“You have revealed too much in your greedy kisses,” he says shakily.  “You step back and whip Valjean’s shirt over his head to stop him looking at you like that - I’m serious, Valjean: stop it.”

 

Fantine tries to do as he instructs, but she is much shorter than either man and does not have the commanding presence that Javert does, so the shirt only comes about halfway up and gets tangled on Valjean’s face.  Valjean laughs, trying to help her, and she uses his distraction to ghost her hands down Valjean’s chest, eliciting a yelp and a wild thrusting of his hips.  It’s off script - Javert did not tell her to do that - but he cannot argue with the results.  Valjean manages to tear the shirt all the way off and throw it into the corner, or at least what he assumes is the corner he’s not really paying attention.  He goes in for another kiss-

 

“Stop him,” Javert commands, perhaps a little too loudly.  Fantine avoids the kiss, touching his shoulder to hold him off.  She is learning.  “You want a moment to look, to take in every little detail.  Learn him by sight and by touch.”  She does so, but Valjean is beginning to get impatient.  He keeps trying to capture Fantine’s lips, and when she does not let him, he settles for burying his face in her neck and mouthing at her skin.  She runs her hands over every inch of his torso, memorising, worshiping, squeezing, testing.  Javert’s hands twitch, longing to take control.  He settles for pressing one hand against the his own cock.  Seeing Valjean quickly losing his patience makes Javert all the more determined to maintain his own.

 

“Valjean probably will embarrass himself if we don’t move on now,” he says drily, “though you could spend an eternity just like this.  You release him so that he may...” Javert pauses, frowning.  He realises he has no idea what Fantine wears under her dress, nor how it would equate to his own clothing.  His are fairly simple: shirt, trousers, underwear, stockings.  Nothing with the insane number of lacingings or frippery he has seen on some women’s clothes.  Of course, Fantine also tends toward the simple, so perhaps....

 

But Fantine and Valjean are waiting for him to finish his sentence, and Valjean is actually smirking damn him, so Javert makes a quick decision.  “Valjean takes off your dress.  He does so slowly because although he is eager, he enjoys taking his time almost as much as you do.”

 

Valjean makes a face at him, clearly unhappy at the pace this game is going, but he is still gentle - almost reverential - as he bares Fantine’s undergarments.  Javert is relieved to see there is nothing too outlandish under there: a shift and simple underwear.  No corset, which is a relief.  He has never had to deal with one personally, but they always looked like a horrible nuisance.  Valjean smoothes his hands down the length of Fantine’s sides, taking her soft figure in, eyes filled with wonder.  He glances at Javert and then leans over to whisper something in Fantine’s ear.

 

Javert leans forward.  “What does he say to you?”

 

Fantine looks at him.  “He says you need to stop sitting over there and issuing your edicts from on high and come join us in the bedroom.”

 

Javert glares at him.  “You are ruining the game, Valjean.”

 

Fantine glances down demurely.  “I agree with him.”

 

He hesitates.  What she’s saying without saying it directly is that she wants both of them, not just Valjean.  Which, admittedly, is a relief; he had sort of wondered if she wanted to be closer to the man who raised her child and felt that Javert was simply someone she had to put up with to do so, but that did not seem to be the case.  Still he wavers.  He liked this game he was playing (which he had no doubt differed greatly from the game the other two _thought_ they were playing).  He was testing himself, and to end the test early would be a failing on his part.

 

Fantine sees the doubt in his eyes and takes over the decision; now is not the time to be passive and let Javert get away with this...whatever he is doing.  Self-sacrificing?  Hardly.  That is more Valjean’s tendency.  Fight for some semblance of control over a situation that is probably overwhelming?  More likely.  She can understand being out of one’s comfort zone and the desire to hold back a part of oneself accordingly, but they need to go into this with all three of them on the same page if they are to avoid any unnecessary jealousy or ill-feelings.  She squares her chin and looks him right in the eye.  “We do this together,” she says, “or not at all.”

 

He swallows.  The tables have turned too quickly, leaving him off-balance enough that he nods tersely before he realises what is happening.  The instinct to do as commanded is more overpowering than the instinct to command.  But still he is determined to have some shred of self-possession so he stands up abruptly and walks into the bedroom without saying a word to either of them.

 

“I think we are meant to follow,” Valjean says laughing but Fantine is already walking away and he’s just standing there with an erection, looking like a dolt, so he rolls his eyes at his lovers (though neither of them sees) and follows them into the bedroom.

 

They find Javert fussing with the sheets on the bed.  Fantine steps up to him and places her hand reassuringly on his back.  He pauses, straightens up.  Looks her in the eye and whatever passes between them must be just what each needs because Javert is leaning forward to kiss her and Fantine is taking his face between her hands and each is clinging to the other with all of their strength.

 

Valjean steps behind Javert and gently urges his shirt up and over his head (Fantine breaks away only as long as is needed and then is right back to kissing him).  He leans down to plant kisses along Javert’s shoulders, then switching to Fantine’s neck and arms.  Her hands roam ceaselessly over Javert’s body, burying themselves in his chest hair, coasting over his nipples.  Javert barely makes a sound other than the wet smacking of his lips against hers.  Valjean smiles; Javert is a quiet lover and it’s sort of nice to know that not even Fantine’s agile hands can make him shout out.

 

One of the straps of her shift falls off her shoulder, giving just the briefest glimpse of her breast.  Javert only hesitates for a moment before diving down to lavish attention on her nipple with his tongue.  Judging by the way Fantine moans and arches her back, he is quite good at it.  Not that Valjean has any doubt; he’s been on the receiving end of Javert’s wicked tongue enough times to know what skill it has.  He presses against Fantine’s back, pulling her flush against his chest, and slips his hand inside her shift to play with her other breast.  She twists her head up and around, begging Valjean silently for a kiss which he is only all too happy to provide.  His other hand drifts down to pull up her shift and apparently Javert has the same idea because their hands meet between her legs and together they press against her underwear.  She makes a sound of pure need and rubs hard against their intertwined fingers.

 

Javert is the first to break away.  He pulls Fantine down onto the bed and Valjean shucks off his trousers and pants before joining them.  He needs skin against skin nownownow so he kneels behind Fantine and pulls her shift up over her head.  She looks more exquisite than he ever imagined possible, and judging by the look on his face, Javert feels the same way.  He is reclining against the pillows that have been piled against the headboard and Fantine is straddling his thighs, palming his erection through his trousers.  Valjean shifts so that he is also straddling Javert, but he does not put his weight down.  He slides one hand along her belly and down into her underwear, fingers playing between her folds.  Javert leans forward to continue where he left off suckling at her nipples, this time switching back and forth between the two.  Without warning, a shudder races through her body, causing her to arch her back nearly in half before falling limply back against Valjean.

 

Javert freezes, perplexed.  “What was that?” he demands.  “Did we hurt you?”

 

Fantine is grinning too hard to respond other than to shake her head.  Valjean says, “I think she just orgasmed.”

 

Javert stares at him, then at her.  “But women don’t...do that,” he says.  “Do they?”

 

“Apparently they do.”  Valjean had no idea that could happen, but now that he thinks about it, surely it’s not such a strange idea.  Why should men be the only ones to receive pleasure from sex?

 

“So that’s...it?” Javert apparently cannot wrap his head around what just happened; he sounds like a child who has been told Christmas will not be coming this year.

 

Fantine laughs and recovers enough to lean forward to kiss him.  Her arms tremble to bear her weight, but Javert’s hands automatically come up to support her.  “My dear, I could do that all day and still be able to have intercourse.”  She grins impishly at the both of them.  “Only men are so weak they can only orgasm once and have to stop.”

 

Valjean has approximately half a second to realise what is about to happen and scramble backwards out of the way just before Javert flips Fantine and himself over so that he is on top of her.  “I’ll show you weak,” he growls but there is no real heat to his words and Fantine is laughing breathlessly.  He all but rips her underwear away and shoves his own trousers down, kicking them and his pants to the floor.  Still, when he enters her he is gentle.  He tries to set a steady pace but soon he becomes erratic and her attempts at counter-thrusting to push him deeper inside her throw him off even worse.  It should be awkward and uncomfortable for Valjean to watch, yet it is somehow the most entrancing thing he has ever seen.  He’s never had the ability to see Javert from this vantage point before, and it’s absolutely magnificent.  And Fantine...beautiful Fantine nearly beside herself with lust and (dare he venture to say love?) other emotions is a sight too perfect for words.

 

Valjean kneels beside them and reaches between them to where their bodies are joined.  His finger brushes against a swollen little nub between Fantine’s folds that she bucks wildly when he touches, so he rubs it again and again just to see what happens.  Javert needs both his hands for balance, but Fantine manages to shoot a hand out to grab Valjean’s cock and pump it erratically.  It’s almost too rough to really be pleasing and the angle is horrible but he is too far gone to feel anything more than godyespleasehurry and when Javert lunges forward to capture his lips he is gone over the edge vision white with pleasure.  He hears Fantine cry out and she is shuddering again and then it is Javert’s turn after just one or two thrusts more.  They collapse together, Javert falling sideways so that he is sprawled mostly over Valjean’s lap rather than Fantine’s body.  His face ends up smashed into Valjean’s hipbone, so he takes the opportunity to kiss every inch of skin he can reach.  Valjean, meanwhile, falls backward, thanking Heaven in general that the bed is big enough to accommodate their shenanigans (it feels a little too blasphemous to thank God directly for abetting their sinful ways).

 

Fantine tucks herself against Valjean’s side, reaching down to run her fingers through Javert’s soft hair.  “We should probably get around to eating dinner,” Valjean murmurs.  He’s not sure, but it feels like Javert has fallen asleep and is drooling on his thigh.

 

“I think it can wait for now,” Fantine says.  “It’s been a...strange evening.”  She yawns widely.

 

“But not one you regret, I hope.”  He looks worried so she presses a kiss to his lips.

 

“Not in the least.”

 

He tightens his grip around her.  “Good.”

 

They don’t mean to fall asleep like that.  They have every intention of moving into a proper sleeping position and pulling the covers up and dousing the candles, but there is a saying about good intentions and, well, not having to wake Javert to get him to move is a good enough reason to justify the drool caking Valjean’s leg in the morning.

  
  
  



	17. Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS. If you haven't already noticed, THERE ARE MORE FICS IN THE JAVERT/JEAN VALJEAN/FANTINE TAG. Go read them, they are GORGEOUS!

If Javert expected things to change dramatically around the cottage, he was very much mistaken.  Things went on as they had before, except that all three inhabitants are more open with their physical affection.  It would not be uncommon for for one person to walk into a room to find the other two kissing or working on a project together with their hands intertwined or simply sitting very close together.  Evenings spent in the study are the best, with Valjean teaching Fantine to read and write while Javert loses himself in his own book.  Or at least he pretends to, though more often than not he will become distracted by his two lovers’ soft voices and he will sit there with his book open to the same page for thirty minutes just listening to them whisper together.

****

Their lovemaking becomes less awkward and unwieldy.  They figure out different ways to pleasure each other at the same time, or sometimes they take it in turns.  Some nights Fantine is content to just watch the two men together.  She will lie next to them on the bed, undressed but any attempts to touch her are kindly rebuffed.  She just wants to admire them together, she explains.  Javert can understand; sometimes he enjoys watching Valjean and Fantine having sex together, but where he differs from her is that he always becomes unbearably turned on and usually ends up bringing himself to release with his hand.  On the nights when she just watches, she does not even touch herself.  Other nights, she participates but does not achieve release, and it seems strange to the men that she doesn’t care either way; if she does, it’s a pleasant surprise, but if she does not, that’s okay too.

****

Her attitude is directly opposite of everything they ever thought they knew about sex.

****

They learn the ways they fit together through trial and error, and eventually fall into a rhythm.  It’s beyond extraordinary.

****

So sometimes when ordinary things happen, it throws them off-balance.

****

One day Javert comes inside from the garden to find Fantine has stepped out.  That is not entirely unusual; although she prefers to stay in the cottage most of the time, she will often go out to pick herbs or venture with Valjean into the woods to look at the wildlife.  She usually lets Javert know if she’s going very far, though, so that he may plan his schedule accordingly.  He wonders if he should just wait for her, but something makes him uneasy.

****

He doesn’t have to go far before he finds her; she is in the cowshed, petting and talking to Isabelle.  This, too, does not bode well.  While they communicate with each other easily enough, all three of them have been known to confide in Isabelle when they are dealing with something they don’t want the others to know about.  It’s not a problem with trust, really; more of a respectful way to keep one’s problems from bothering the others.

****

“Fantine,” he says softly, so as not to startle her.  He doesn’t succeed; she jumps, her head nearly colliding with Isabelle’s.  “Something is troubling you.”  It’s not a question.  He can see the worry in her eyes.

****

Fantine shakes her head.  “It’s not something I wanted to bother you with.”

****

“It’s not a bother,” he says.  Not looking her in the eye, he goes to grab Isabelle’s favourite brush and proceeds to groom her.  He does not press the issue, giving Fantine the chance to make her own decision.

****

After several long moments, she picks up another brush, one Isabelle is not as fond of but tolerates, and begins to help.  “Valjean and I missed Cosette’s last birthday.”

****

“I see...” Javert says slowly.  He refrains from making a snarky comment, but just barely.  Of all the silly....

****

Fantine sighs.  “You do not see.  I have never missed her birthday before.  Even when she was in Montfermeil, I always sent her special thoughts and prayers.”

****

Javert glances at her out of the corner of his eye, trying to suss out whether or not there is some veiled blame directed at him, but if there is he cannot detect it.  If anything, Fantine places the blame directly on herself.  He wants to try to make her see reason about the whole thing (“Does it matter if you missed it?  She would not know the difference either way.”) but he knows in the eyes of people like Fantine and Valjean, this line of thinking seems more callous than reasonable.

****

Something of his thoughts must reflect on his face because Fantine pauses her administrations to place a hand on Javert’s.  “Because I cannot be there for her in person, the least I can do is observe her from afar.”  There is a pleading note in her voice, begging him to understand even though they both know he never will.  He has never known a loving family, never known a mother who would do anything for him.  Besides, Cosette has her own family now, one that loves her very much.  Still...even now, Fantine carries a great amount of guilt in her mind about not being able to take care of her daughter.  That - the overwhelming weight of guilt, that is - Javert can understand.

****

“Perhaps we can bake a cake in her honour,” he tries, resuming his brushstrokes.  “It may be a day or two late but we shall say a special blessing over it.  I believe cakes are customary for birthday celebrations?”

****

“They are,” Fantine says.  She continues with her own work.  “Have you ever had a birthday cake?”

****

“No,” Javert says offhandedly.  “I’ve no idea when my birthday was.”

****

Fantine winces.  It’s not the most uncommon thing to hear, unfortunately, but they way he is so casual about it is sad.  “You have no idea whatsoever?”

****

“I was born mid-spring in 1775.  That is all I know.”

****

Fantine’s heart aches for him, but she takes it in stride.  Really, it’s Valjean’s reaction she is worried about when she tells him.  He is likely to pity Javert rather than let it slide, and there are few things Javert hates worse than pity, especially when it is directed at him.

****

His eyes are on her again.  “Do not tell him.”

****

“Tell me what?”

****

Fantine jumps, startled, and even Javert is caught off guard.  He grumbles deep in his throat about meddling nitwits but it’s unclear if he means Fantine or Valjean.  Meanwhile, Valjean is standing in the doorway to the cowshed, looking back and forth between the two of them.  His expression is mostly curious but a little hurt as well; secrets are a dangerous thing between the three lovers, not to mention the hypocrisy of Javert asking Fantine to keep something between them when he always makes a fuss if Valjean even thinks of keeping something from him.

****

“Tell me what,” Valjean repeats, a little more insistently.

****

Javert finishes his side of Isabelle and puts her brush away.  Fantine isn’t far behind.  Javert says, “Tell you that no one has ever celebrated the day of my birth before.”  He waves a hand dismissively.  “It’s not a big deal, but I didn’t want you to fuss.”

****

“I don’t fuss,” Valjean tries to protest, but now both of them are looking at him disbelievingly and alright maybe he does tend to fuss.  Maybe he is currently trying to figure out the best way to have a surprise celebration.

****

“Being born is hardly the greatest achievement of my life,” Javert says drily.  “Celebrate any one of my promotions.  Celebrate the day you dragged me up from Hell.  Hell, celebrate the day I first arrived at Toulon and met the scourge known as Jean-le-cric, for all I care.  Each day is just like any other, what does it matter which one is the one you were forced into the world?”

****

Valjean sighs.  “Very well.  If that is how you feel about it.”

****

“It is.”

****

The matter is more or less dropped.  That night they bake a cake, and Fantine leads them in a special prayer for Cosette and her family and may she see many more birthdays yet.  Unknown to the others, however, Valjean says a silent prayer of his own, thanking God for Javert and the fate that brought them together, and blesses the day that Javert was born, whenever it may have been.

 


	18. Shapeless

    “Javert!”

 

    Javert rolls his eyes even though his lovers cannot see him.  They are still lazing about in the bedroom while he has been up and active for a good hour already.  He has come inside to store the milk for later use - Fantine said something about making cheese - and he is about to go out again but it seems Valjean has other ideas.  Javert takes his time washing his hands in the basin; it’s healthy for Valjean to be kept waiting sometimes.  Good exercise for his patience.

 

    “Javerrrrrrrrrt.”

 

    Then again....  Javert grabs a rag to dry off his hands and goes to the bedroom doorway.  The covers have all but been pushed to the floor, and Valjean and Fantine are reclining amongst a heap of pillows, naked, looking for all the world like the very definition of sin.

 

    “Come back to bed,” Valjean says.  There is a lecherous grin playing on his gorgeous lips and a sweeter, more innocent one to match on Fantine’s.  “It’s Sunday.  Our day to do whatever we wish.”

 

    Javert tosses the rag at him, which he deftly knocks away.  “There is still work to be done, even on Sundays.  Or should I have left poor Isabelle to suffer just because you somehow imagine yourself neglected?”

 

    Fantine twists and stretches on the bed like a cat.  “She’s been taken care of, I assume.  Now it is your turn to be taken care of.”

 

    They are teasing, seducing, but something is niggling in the back of Javert’s mind, an idea that has been coming to him steadily for weeks now and is at last fully blooming.  It is...not entirely a nice idea, one that could possibly break all three of them irreparably.  The slight smile slides from his face and he regards them seriously.

 

    “I wish to play a game.”

 

    Valjean sits up eagerly, but Fantine is a little more wary.  She takes in his solemn, almost grave expression and says, “What sort of game?”

 

    Javert does not know how to describe it exactly.  “It may be...a little painful.  Not physically, at least I hope not.  But...”

 

    “Emotionally,” Fantine says.  Javert nods.

 

    “How do you mean?” Valjean says.  He does not seem put off, not yet.  Javert opens his mouth to explain, but the words stick in his throat.  He tries again.  Nothing.

 

    Shaking his head in frustration, he goes to Valjean’s side of the bed.  Words wouldn’t be adequate, anyway.  Best to show.  He takes one of Valjean’s hands in one of his and examines it.  Carefully, lightly, his eyes on Valjean’s the whole time, he traces his free hand along Valjean’s wrist, concentrating.  The skin puckers and lightens, becomes lumpy and painful-looking.  The scars from Valjean’s years in prison.  Valjean and Fantine’s eyes widen but they do not say anything, and for a moment Javert sees the wild, desperate man with a shaved head and full beard and the whore with bad teeth before him.  Breaking eye contact, his head dips down quickly to kiss Valjean’s wrist; the scars disappear as if they were never there.  Javert meets his gaze once more, questioning.  Seeking permission.

 

    “Yes,” Valjean whispers breathlessly.  “I will play your game.”

 

    A glance to Fantine, eyes saying she is perfectly at liberty to say no, but she is already nodding.  She does not speak but reaches out to place her hand on top of Valjean's and Javert's intertwined ones.

 

    “What do we do?” Valjean says.

 

    The moment is broken, at least for now, and Javert snaps into action.  He pushes the blankets the rest of the way off the bed and then swipes all the pillows except for two onto the floor.  “Lie flat on your backs,” he tells them and they obey as he quickly strips out of his clothes.  One pillow each for behind their heads.  “Do not move unless I instruct you or move you myself.”  Once they are relaxed and pliant, he shifts them so that they are lying with their legs spread slightly apart and their arms away from their sides.  It looks silly, the two of them spread out like this, and if he weren’t about to do something so potentially hurtful, he probably would have laughed.  Instead he stands by Fantine’s side of the bed and gently places a hand on her stomach.

 

    “Would you like me to start with you?”

 

    There are tears in her eyes already and she nods quickly.  “Please,” she whispers.

 

    He begins at her feet.  They are such dainty, fragile-looking things, barely big enough to support much of anything, even someone as small as Fantine.  He traces each toe, the toenails gnarled from exposure to the elements.  Scars from frostbite and sharp stones appear.  Each one gets kissed and soothed away.  Moving up her ankles to her legs, running his fingers through the soft hair there.  Not wiry and harsh like Valjean’s or his own, but pleasant to the touch and much less dense.  The smooth skin of her knees and her nearly hairless thighs.  Each scar that appears is dutifully kissed or caressed away.  Up to her hips, the sharp bones just barely softened by fat and skin.  He lingers for a moment on her stomach over her womb, where her baby would have first started growing.  Above his head, he hears the first hitching of her breath as she begins to sob.  He begins to pull away but Valjean’s soft voice stops him.

 

    “She’s fine.  She knows the safe word if she needs it.  Keep going.”

 

    So he does, with renewed earnestness.  This isn’t about hurting his lovers, this is about healing the old wounds and doing away with the last vestiges of old pain.  He kisses down the curl of hair between her thighs to her inner lips and spreads them open.  Dips his tongue into her again and again, attempting to clear away the damage caused by so many men...no, demons.  Fantine’s breath is ragged but she does not say the safe word.

 

    After a moment resting his forehead against her hips, Javert moves on.  He becomes aware that Valjean has propped himself up on his elbows to watch them, but Javert does not chastise him for breaking the rules.  He wants Valjean to see this, needs him to, because as difficult as this is for Fantine it will be a hundred times worse when Valjean’s turn comes.  With them, the scars are personal.  Javert needs Valjean to see what this is supposed to be if they are going to get through it.  Javert kisses his way up Fantine’s torso.  Here there are several long scratches from careless or vindictive customers, as well as some horrifying bruises.  One moment there, the next gone.  Her small breasts, looking pinched and deflated, as though they are trying to fold in on themselves.  Under his careful hands and tongue, they become alive once more, filling out, the nipples darkening and the top of her bosom flushing.  His mouth finds its way across her collarbone and down one arm straight to the tips of each finger.  A myriad of tiny and large cuts.  Across her body to the other hand, the fingers, up the wrist to the elbow and back to her neck.

 

    Her hair is soaked with her tears but she has managed to get her breathing back under control.  Javert strokes her face and then frowns when he realises her cheeks are swelling.  She looks away from him, ashamed, but he coaxes her face back to his and gently opens her mouth to see.  Oh, her poor teeth.  He kisses her mouth softly wishing he could climb right in there and erase all the damage.  Instead he swipes his tongue as far into her mouth as he can reach, and the swelling recedes.  He kisses away her tear tracks, up to her eyelids, and puts one last kiss on the tip of her nose.  Sits back to admire his work.

 

    “Turn over,” he says.

 

    She obeys, taking the opportunity to fold her arms on her pillow and bury her face in them.  Her whole body shakes as she cries herself out.  The scars are fewer here on her, just a few scratches that he gently banishes.  He carefully maps the soft planes of her back, the dimples just above her rear, the fleshy roundness of her arse.  There is a birthmark just above her tailbone that he lathers with attention.  Down to the backs of her knees, which he knows are sensitive, and along her calves and he is done.  He stretches out next to her, on the outer side of the bed, away from Valjean, and just holds her for several long minutes.  When her breathing evens out and she resurfaces from the pillow, he kisses her mouth one last time and pulls away.

 

    Valjean knows it is his turn now, and though he is trembling he starts to lie back down, but Javert shakes his head and gestures for Valjean to turn onto his stomach.  Fantine, still also on her stomach, turns her head to watch them.  An encouraging smile sits hesitantly on her lips.

 

    Javert works his way over Valjean’s body in reverse order from Fantine’s.  He avoids the neck to start with, going straight for Valjean’s large, muscular back.  It’s somehow worse because he knows exactly what he will see before he even touches it: the criss-cross scars from the whip Javert authorised and supervised on multiple occasions.  Usually when Valjean tried to escape or a minor scuffle broke out amongst the prisoners and he turned out to be the cause.  These scars are ragged and deeply entrenched in his body, and Javert has to spend several long minutes working to take each one away.  He gives each one a name as he does so: Escape Attempt #2, Mass Brawl in July, Fight with 22879.  He remembers each prisoner’s face, the ones who took exception to Valjean’s strength and personality, the ones who just wanted to get Valjean in trouble.

 

    The backs of his thighs are in slightly better condition, but not by much.  Here is where a loose chain swung around and cut him open, there is where another guard cut him with a sharp piece of wood just for fun.  Javert was never one for undeserved punishment or torturing the prisoners for laughs; every whipping was well earned, every punishment a direct effect of some broken rule.  Each scar soothed away is another silent prayer...for salvation, for forgiveness, for mercy for his fellow human beings who blurred the line between right and wrong, law and crime.  These people had been as much a cause of Javert’s undoing as Valjean was.

 

    Javert travels down to Valjean’s feet and the spell of their not-game is broken when Javert traces his fingers along the arch of one foot and Valjean jerks it away, snorting with laughter and tears.  Javert jumps back, alarmed, and Fantine sits up, grinning widely.  “Your feet are ticklish?” Javert demands, outraged and that in itself is preposterous and the tension that has been building breaks suddenly and the three of them are howling with laughter and relief and pain and release.

 

    Javert is the first to recover himself.  He climbs off the bed and goes around the side to Valjean’s chest, which he pushes and rolls until Valjean gets the hint and turns over.  He is still grinning, but Javert leans over him and treats him to the most desperate, greedy, punishing kisses they have ever shared, and by the end the solemn, weighty mood has returned.  Satisfied, Javert returns to the foot of the bed and resumes his exploration.  Each toe, each skin-covered bone, each inch of flesh covered in hair is examined and treated as needed.  Shins, knees, thighs, hips, sex.  He does not spend much time on Valjean’s private areas like he did Fantine’s; there is no need to.  This isn’t a sexual experience, as each man’s lack of arousal could attest to.  Instead, Javert moves on up Valjean’s chest to his collarbone and shoulders.  Down the arms and this is where things get messy because Javert has saved the worst for last.

 

    The wrists yes the wrists they have already touched upon those, started with them he might argue.  But more work is to be done than a couple fleeting kisses to show his intent.  He straddles Valjean’s waist for leverage and vantage.  He takes both wrists in his hands, brings them to his mouth and begins to whisper,

 

    _“Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.  Thy kingdom come.  Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”_

 

    Tears are pouring from Valjean’s eyes as he clasps Javert’s face between his strong hands.  When Javert’s voice falters and dies, Valjean steps in with a couple of verses from Matthew:

 

    _“For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.  But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins...my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins...”_

 

    Fantine puts one hand on top of Valjean’s closest one and chimes in, her voice clear and beautiful, _“‘Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?’  ‘I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.’”_

 

    Javert puts Valjean’s healed hands down and lays down along his chest, pressing his face into Valjean’s neck where once he had put an iron collar.  He whispers something inaudible and then just lays there for several long moments, breathing heavily.  Valjean can feel wetness trickling along his neck and, heedless of Javert’s earlier instructions not to move unless told to, he wraps his arms around Javert and crushes him to his chest.  Fantine draws up beside the two of them and pulls them to her, kissing whatever she can reach.

 

    When Javert finally pulls his face away, the two lovers he has laid out on the bed and kissed into quivering messes, they move as one, pulling him down, laying him out, touching caressing kissing soothing.  They dredge up his old scars and chase them away again with tongues.  Occasionally they meet somewhere on his skin and they pause a moment to caress each other and him at the same time.  It’s sweet and beautiful and Javert tolerates it quietly because how does he explain that he carries the deepest ones inside of his soul and they, his lovers, have already started to heal those a long time ago?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually one of my favourite things I've ever written. Not as good as this: http://archiveofourown.org/works/766985 but it's a close second.


	19. Sunrise

Javert doesn’t know why the question takes so long to occur to him.  It should have been obvious right from the start, but he had taken everything for granted so far, and the thought that Valjean could actually exist separately from him is so far outside his desires it takes literally years for him to ask such a simple question.

****

“What does your Heaven look like?”

****

He has surprised himself by asking, and judging by the look on Valjean’s face, he too is taken off guard.  “My Heaven?” he repeats.

****

“Yes.  As I understand it, every person has their own piece of Heaven, correct?  Fantine has her apartment out there.”  He doesn’t mention how Fantine once told him under strict confidence that it was filled with baby supplies and furniture; that was one of the reasons she enjoyed spending time in Javert’s garden.  It hurt too much too look at all the baby stuff, but at the same time she could not bear to get rid of it.  “Where did you spend your time before coming here?”

****

“Ah, mostly with my son-in-law’s friends and with Fantine,” Valjean says.

****

Javert puzzles this over.  “Yes, but your own piece...”

****

“Some Heavens are shared,” Valjean reminds him.  “The revolutionaries share a Heaven.”

****

Javert frowns.  “You mean this is your Heaven, too?”  If so, that would certainly explain a few things, like how Valjean had been able to track him down when no one else could and how he had been able to break back in the one time Javert managed to banish him.  And it would explain why when Fantine was away, Javert felt sad but when Valjean left on occasion, he felt like a part of his soul had been ripped away and was wandering Heaven without him.

****

Valjean thinks about it for a while.  “I guess so,” he says at last.  “I have never felt as at home anywhere else as I do here.  I have never felt drawn to somewhere they way I am to here.”

****

“Soulmates,” Fantine says.

****

The two men look up from their work.  They hadn’t heard her come out from the cottage.  “You two are soulmates,” she says again.  “Two souls who are irrevocably linked together.”

****

Javert stares at her.  “What utter nonsense,” he mutters even though deep down he can feel the truth behind the statement.  “Every soul has a mate?”

****

Fantine shakes her head, somewhat sadly.  “No.  It’s actually quite rare that two souls cannot exist without each other.  But it does happen.”

****

“Have you ever heard of three souls being linked together?” Valjean asks.

****

Fantine laughs, but again it is tinged with sadness.  “No, that is not something I’ve heard of.  You’d know if it were the case.”  She places a hand on each of their chests.  “You’d know in your heart.”

****

Javert understands what she means.  He loves Fantine, he does.  If he could spend eternity with her, that would be wonderful.  But he does not feel that she is such an integral part of his being, the way he does with Valjean.  He wonders if she feels like an outsider intruding into their relationship, though they have assured her time and again that she is not.  He draws her in for a lingering kiss.  Valjean wraps his arms around the both of them and plants kisses on both of their heads, one after the other.

 


	20. Sunset

Time passes.  Javert begins to lose track of how many days, weeks, months they spend in each other’s company.  One day bleeds into the next and Javert almost forgets that things could ever change.

 

In retrospect, that was rather foolish of him.

 

Two things happen in fairly quick succession.  On the outside, they do not appear to be related, but later when Javert is on his own and has plenty of time to reflect, he comes to see them as inseparably connected.

 

The first incident is the two little brats who wiggle their way into his Heaven.

 

They come through the woods.  It was one of those rare days when Valjean putters around the cottage.  They are well stocked for food, so he looks into doing a few repairs on the cottage and cowshed; things do not wear down here as quickly as they do on Earth, but three humans, a cow, and a couple of chickens are bound to damage things, no matter how careful they try to be.  So Valjean works on repairing those nicks and holes while Fantine assists Javert out in the garden.  If Valjean had been out in the woods, as was his usual routine, perhaps he would have intercepted the two kids and Javert never would have been the wiser.

 

But there is no point in dwelling on maybes and perhapses.

 

It is nearing evening when Javert becomes aware of a niggling feeling in the back of his mind.  He is engrossed in extricating several ivy plants and doesn’t pay it any attention; he assumes it must be his lovers doing something sneaky again that he wants no part of.  If he had been more cognizant he would have remembered that Valjean and Fantine are both within spitting distance of him, not out in the woods together where the niggling feeling is coming from, but he has lost himself in his work and the thought never crosses his mind until Fantine suddenly breathes in sharply next to him.

 

He looks up, frowning.  Fantine has been startled by the two children who are giggling and shoving each other around.  They approach from the direction of the woods.  Javert feels a cold shock course through his veins; not since Valjean has anyone sneaked into his Heaven unanticipated.  For better or for worse (he really cannot decide if it is a good thing or not), Javert recognises the little boy.  He is the blonde ruffian who revealed Javert’s identity to the revolutionaries at the barricade.  The girl - who is a year or two younger than the boy - is unknown to him, but there is a familiarity around the face that suggests a kinship to the boy.

 

Time itself seems to stop as the children catch sight of the adults and approach.  Fantine is pale and confused, while Javert is trying to figure out how they could have possibly gotten past his defenses.  Valjean by now has noticed what is going on and is glancing from the children to Javert and back again, apparently trying to figure out the same thing.

 

“Wooowheee,” the little boy calls out as they near.  “Is this where you’ve been hiding from us, Mama Fantine?  With these old sods?”

 

Valjean makes a noise of vague distress in the back of his throat, but Javert just rolls his eyes and glares.  The urchin certainly had a way with words.

 

“Did you come here looking for me?” Fantine asks, perplexed.  She never did return to the revolutionaries’ Heaven after the incident with Tholomyes, but she hadn’t suspected she would be missed.  Besides, she’d been a little...distracted with her growing relationship.

 

“‘Course we did,” the boy exclaims.  “We wanted to make sure you was okay.  Didn’t think you’d be holing up with a coupla blokes like these!”

 

“What’s your name, boy?” Javert asks.

 

The boy feigns surprised hurt.  “Don’t you remember your good friend Gavroche, Inspector?  I certainly remember you.”  He bows mockingly.  The girl - his sister? - gives a clumsy curtsy but she doesn’t manage to pull off the same irony as the boy.  “And this my sister, Eponine,” he says, jerking a thumb at her.

 

Several thoughts race through Javert’s head at that revelation: he’d well known Eponine Jondrette/Thenardier, the girl who helped her parents swindle everyone in sight.  But she had been much older when last he had seen her.  How had she died?  How old had been?  Why would she choose to go back to being a little girl in her afterlife?  How had she managed to get into Heaven, and did that mean her parents would have the possibility as well?  And not the least of which: if this little boy was truly her brother, then Javert had unwittingly given his Legion of Honour to a Thenardier, and it had been buried with him.  A cold fury washes over him, made even worse by the fact that he knows there is nothing he can do about it.

 

“How did you get in here?” he demands.

 

“Came through the woods,” Gavroches says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

 

Javert snorts, annoyed.  He doesn’t want a couple of children - Thendardier children, no less - running around his garden, getting into things and wreaking havoc.  But there is a way to be rid of them without his lovers jumping down his throat for being rude.  “Since you’re here, you might as well stay for supper.  After that, you’ll leave and never come back.”

 

“We were planning on having a bonfire in a few days,” Valjean muses.  “Maybe we can have it tonight instead.”  Every couple of months they have a large bonfire to burn down all the detritus that collects from their work in the garden.  Javert usually saves some of it for compost, but there is too much to keep all of it.

 

Javert rolls his eyes.  “Fine, you may stay for the bonfire.  But after that you will forget this place even exists.”

 

Gavroche starts to say something snarky along the lines of “well maybe I don’t want to stay for your disgusting supper anyway” but Eponine is already heading for the cottage.  Gavroche and Fantine follow after her immediately, and Valjean does as well after Javert tells him he doesn’t mind putting everything away.  Before he leaves though, Javert asks him in an undertone, “Is this your doing?  If this is your Heaven too, does that mean you can let people in or keep people out at your will as well?”

 

Valjean blinks at him; the thought hadn’t occurred to him that he might also be able to control what happens in what he really always thought of as Javert’s garden, even though he also thought of it as his own home.  “If this is because of me,” he says, “I didn’t do it a-purpose.”

 

Javert sighs.  “I’m sure you didn’t.  I still don’t like it.”

 

Valjean nods sympathetically but secretly he thinks this might be good for Javert.  To spend eternity in such extreme seclusion with only Fantine and Valjean for company is bound to wear down even someone like Javert; maybe this is just the first step towards getting Javert to socialise more.  He doesn’t say that out loud though.  Instead, he heads for the cottage and leaves Javert to take his time clearing away the tools.

 

When Javert finally comes inside, he discovers that an extra chair has appeared out of nowhere and Fantine is setting out their best food.  As if these children need to be impressed, ha.  There is no possible way to take a bath while they are here, so Javert scrubs his hands in the basin as well as he can and splashes some water onto his face as well.  Gavroche is chattering on about their mutual friends, particularly that boy Courfeyrac.  Javert cannot remember which one he is, but he will forever associate him with that good-for-naught Tholomyes.  Meanwhile, Eponine doesn’t say much.  Actually, Javert realises she doesn’t say anything at all.  She doesn’t look particularly happy to be in the cottage eating food collected by a man she once feared and hated.  At least, Javert assumes she remembers who he is; maybe she got rid of any memories of her life past the age she now appears.

 

No, Javert thinks when the little girl levels a heartfelt glare at him, she definitely knows who I am.  It amuses him more than it should, but at least now he is in a better mood and is more receptive to his company.  Valjean, aware of the change in demeanour if not what caused it, smiles at him and offers him the seat between himself and Fantine.

 

The meal passes quite pleasantly, all things considered.  Gavroche and Javert even discover mutual entertainment by trying to out-riddle each other.  Javert wins, though narrowly, and he makes sure to be a gracious winner.  Eponine still doesn’t say anything, but judging by Fantine and Valjean’s lack of concern, this is hardly something new.

 

After supper, the sun is almost all the way down, but Valjean and Javert can see well enough to get the bonfire started.  The debris was already in place, they just need to toss a couple of matches in there to get it going.  Gavroche lets out a loud whoop as the fire starts to really blaze, and even Eponine laughs delightedly.

 

As the fire burns, though, Javert becomes aware of a slow melancholy falling over the group.  It starts with Fantine, who begins to look pinched and drawn.  She laughs at the children, but it is a hollow sound.  She keeps touching her stomach as though it pains her, but when she catches herself doing it she looks puzzled as though she’s not sure why.  Next, Valjean stops telling his inane anecdotes and falls into a brooding silence.  Javert wants to ask them what’s wrong, but he also doesn’t want the children prying into their personal business.

 

It seems his concerns are for naught, though.  Eponine cocks her head slightly at the three of them and says (the first words she has spoken since entering the garden), “Cosette has cancer.”

 

Before Javert can get angry about his lovers keeping secrets again, Fantine buries her face in her hands and Valjean says quietly, “Yes.  She just received the news.”  He looks at Javert.  “We knew she’d been feeling poorly lately, but we didn’t know it was...” He is sad but there is a light in his eyes too.  Cosette will die - how soon is anyone’s guess - and she will be reunited with her Mama and Papa.

 

This thought makes Javert very uncomfortable.  “How did you know?” he asks Eponine to distract himself from an unpleasant train of thoughts.

 

Eponine, however, is no help whatsoever.  She shrugs and goes back to poking at the bonfire with a long stick.

 

“I think you two best leave,” Javert tells them firmly.

 

Thankfully, the children do not argue.  They bid Fantine and Valjean goodbye, and Javert escorts them out the gate.  Gavroche protests that they can just go out the way they came, but Javert doesn’t like the idea that they may linger in his woods.  When they are well on their way down the path to the other parts of Heaven, Javert comes back and sits with his lovers.  None of them speak as they watch the fire roar long into the night and eventually burn itself out.  When they go to bed, they hold each other close.  They can all feel the fork in the road that they are fast approaching, but none of them are quite sure which side they’ll take when it comes.


	21. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who were put off by the threesome, this is where Fantine leaves. Welcome back.

For the first time since death - a good twenty-thirty years or so - Javert finds himself interested in the passage of time on Earth.  He marks Cosette’s doctor’s prognosis (less than a year) and keeps careful track as the days go by.  He takes care not to watch Cosette specifically, as he does not want Valjean or Fantine knowing what he is doing.  And if he is extra attentive to Fantine’s needs and desires these days, well no one has called any attention to it, so he’s happy to assume no one has noticed.

 

The doctors suggest surgery to remove the tumour, but warn that infection may lead to a premature death anyway; Cosette, Fantine reports, decided to let the disease take its natural course.  It becomes only a matter of time.

 

One morning Javert wakes before dawn to find Fantine gone and Valjean sitting up in bed, looking distraught.  His frown deepens when he sees that Javert is awake and studying him.

 

    “What has happened?” Javert asks, though on some level he thinks he already knows.

 

    “Cosette has passed away.”

 

    “Ah.”  He’s not sure what to say to that.  “The cancer?”

 

    “Yes.”

 

    “Hmm.  Was it...did she suffer?”

 

    A shadow passes over Valjean’s face.  “Yes but the doctors gave her as much relief as she needed.”

 

    “And now her suffering has ended and she shall be reunited with her parents.”

 

    Valjean hesitates.  He is happy to see her again, yes, but it would be unbecoming for him not to acknowledge the life she is leaving behind.  “She is survived by two daughters and a husband.  It is, at best, bittersweet.”

 

    “Has Fantine left already?”

 

    Valjean’s face shows sorrow...for what?  That Javert could believe that after everything Fantine would leave without saying goodbye?  Or that Javert does not seem inclined to entertain the possibility of Cosette joining them in his sanctuary?  “I do not believe so.”

 

    Javert stands and gathers his clothes; Valjean follows suit.  Together they exit the cottage and find Fantine standing by the hedge, staring off into the distance.  The sky is just beginning to lighten into a grey, misty morning.  Fantine does not avert her eyes as they approach and quietly stand on either side of her, each taking one of her hands.

 

    They lose track of how long they stand there.  The rooster crows twice and Isabelle moos loudly but they ignore her for now.  At last a figure appears on the horizon.  It takes its time, meandering here and there, occasionally pausing to observe something or just stretch luxuriously, glad to be pain-free for the first time in many months.  The closer the figure comes the more Fantine trembles, practically vibrating with nervous energy.  She is humming something - a lullaby.  On her other side Valjean cannot stop smiling.

 

    The figure is neither the little girl Fantine last saw nor the young lady Valjean left behind nor the woman aged beyond her years by pain.  She is a woman in the prime of her health - about thirty or so - her eyes bright and intelligent.  She delights in everything she sees.  She draws invariably closer to the hedge.  Javert lets out a whoosh of breath through his teeth, loosening the stranglehold he has on his garden.  Cosette freezes as presumably the solid wall of greenery before her drops away to reveal three people staring at her.  Were he in any other mood, he would have found it amusing to imagine what that must feel like, but he feels nothing but anxiety right now.

 

Recognition lights up Cosette’s face and she is rushing forward as Fantine stops humming, overcome with emotion.  Javert starts to head for the gate to open it for her, but there is no time as she is already clambering over the hedge, heedless of her dress.  She has the recklessness of a little girl once more and she throws herself into her mother’s arms.  “Mama, Mama.  Papa,” she cries, tears spilling down her cheeks.  Fantine is sobbing “my baby, my little girl” over and over while Valjean wraps the both of them up in his arms and just holds them silently.

 

Javert’s stomach plummets and he feels like an outsider in his own Heaven for the first time ever.  Leaving them, he decides to go milk Isabelle.  Valjean will come find him when they are ready to introduce him to Cosette.

 

Isabelle is just as agitated as Javert, shifting warily from foot to foot as Javert tries to get her to calm down.

 

Nearly an hour later, it is not Valjean who approaches but Cosette herself.  Javert expected almost anything but this.  He automatically reaches for Isabelle’s favourite brush, trying to look like he has been busy the whole time.  He wonders how much Valjean has told her, not just about their afterlife together but about their relationship on Earth as well.  She is smiling at him, so whatever she knows must not be too terrible.

 

“Monsieur Javert,” she greets him, stopping a respectful distance away.  She grins impishly as she adds, “Mademoiselle Isabelle.”

 

Isabelle snorts and tosses her head, though there is no mistaking the proud look in her eye.  Javert barely refrains from rolling his eyes; leave it to her to be flattered by such a trifling little thing.  Of course he knows not many people would bother to appeal to a cow, but he is far from feeling charitable at the moment.

 

“Madame Pontmercy,” Javert says, mostly to keep himself from berating his cow for being such a pushover.  Next thing he knows, he reckons, she’ll be petitioning for Cosette to stay in the cottage right along with Valjean and Fantine.

 

“Papa says you have been taking care of him since he passed on,” Cosette says, apparently not noticing Javert’s hostility.  To be fair, it’s not her specifically he is feeling hostile towards, but the situation in general.  Things are starting to change again, and change is not something he deals with well unless he is the driving force behind it.  Valjean has called him out on his need for absolute control several times before, usually when they are arguing.  “I wanted to say thank you for that.”

 

Javert flushes.  “He has taken care of me more than I him,” he assures her.

 

Cosette smiles.  “Exactly.  He is not complete unless he has someone to care for.  I’m glad you were able to provide that for him.  I thank you from the bottom of my heart.  Mama made tea and put out some biscuits, by the way.  She says you should come in if you feel like being social.”  Message delivered, she turns and heads back for the cottage.

 

Javert is flabbergasted at the girl’s perceptiveness regarding her father (and steadfastly ignores the fact that he has just been invited into his own home by a stranger).  He considers refusing to go, but Isabelle gives him a deathglare that he knows he must obey or suffer some horrible consequences.  “Very well, _Mademoiselle_ Isabelle,” he snips.  “Never knew you were such a stickler for etiquette.”

 

It’s not as horrible as he anticipates, but there is a definite air of bittersweetness surrounding them.  Valjean, Fantine, and Cosette are all quite polite to Javert, but it’s obvious they need more time alone together.  Cosette clearly doesn’t even know half of what has happened, and Javert stumbles several times when he almost calls Valjean by name.  Cosette assures him that she learned her father’s true name many years ago, but it still feels like he is somehow bringing up a sore subject.  Maybe that feeling has something to do with the way Valjean winces every time Javert nearly says his name; Cosette may have come to terms with her father’s deceit, but Valjean never did.

 

Afterwards, Javert clears away the table and begins to wash the dishes.  It’s a little rude, but it’s better than having to face the surreptitious glances being exchanged by his dining companions.  While the ladies are engaged in conversation, Valjean sidles up to Javert to have a private conversation.

 

“I wanted Cosette to live here with us,” he says.  Javert starts to interrupt, ready to defend his property and right to privacy vehemently if necessary, but Valjean holds up a hand.  “Let me finish.  That is what I desired, but Fantine has convinced me otherwise.”

 

Javert glances at the woman in question.  Thank God for Fantine and her level head.  “Oh?”

 

Valjean nods.  “Cosette already has so much to take in.  I had forgotten how overwhelming Heaven can be at first.  Not to mention getting to know her mother and seeing me again and learning about who I was when I was alive.  Her husband told her what he knew, but admittedly he did not know everything.  He did not know about you.”  Valjean’s eyes bore into Javert’s.  “It would be unfair to heap everything that has happened after death on her as well.  I will tell her eventually about our relationship, and if Fantine is comfortable perhaps she will, too.  But it may take some time.”

 

Javert considers the girl out of the corner of his eye.  “Will she understand...us?”

 

Valjean shrugs, but there is worry in his eyes.  “She is Fantine’s daughter, and Fantine understands us.”  Javert knows how much Cosette’s opinion means to Valjean, though.  For everyone’s sake, he hopes Cosette is as forgiving and accepting as her mother.

 

“When will you be leaving?”  And when will you be back, he doesn’t ask.  He places the last dish on the draining board and turns to face the room, drying his hands.

 

“Soon.”  Valjean also looks at the women at the table.  Fantine is positively radiant; it’s like a part of her that has been missing has been found again.  Javert wonders if that’s what Valjean looked like when he first found Javert’s garden.

 

All too soon they begin to bid their goodbyes.  Fantine and Valjean tell Cosette they will accompany her and help her grow accustomed to how things operate in Heaven.  “Will you not also come with us, Monsieur Javert?” Cosette asks, all too solicitously.

 

“My place is here,” Javert tells her, taking her hand and kissing it.  It takes a great effort of will, but the delight and love in Valjean’s eyes is well worth it.

 

Fantine embraces him, tears in her eyes.  He hugs her back, ignoring Cosette’s eyes on them.  This is probably the last intimate moment they will share, at least for a long time, and he will not let her judgement - whether it is real or he simply imagines it to be - dampen the feeling of Fantine’s warm body in his arms.  He closes his eyes, savouring her.

 

When they break apart, Fantine draws Cosette outside so that Valjean and Javert may have their last moment alone.  “I’ll be back,” Valjean assures him.  Nevertheless, there are tears in his eyes that he quickly blinks back.

 

“I’ll be here.  Waiting.  So will Isabelle, so you better not be too long.  You know how she is.”

 

Valjean laughs.  “Ah, of course.  I will hurry back for Isabelle’s sake.  I know how much she will miss me.”  He grows serious as he draws Javert against him.  “Cosette is my heart but you are my soul, my love,” he whispers.  “Once she is settled and comfortable here, and I know that she has forgiven me everything, I will come back.”

 

“Stop being such a martyr,” Javert huffs.  “Of course she will forgive you.  She is as willfully blind to other people’s faults as her father, especially when she loves those people.  I’ve only just met her and even I can tell that.”

 

Valjean kisses him gently on the lips, but Javert pulls him in close and all but devours his mouth.  He is greedy and selfish, and he wants Valjean to remember exactly what he is walking away from and what he will return to when he can.  It is several minutes before they break apart, panting and half-hard, and for a quick moment Javert thinks Valjean will tell the women to go on without him, but then he is striding out the door without another word and Javert sinks slowly to the floor, already feeling like the essential part of his existence is missing.


	22. Not Enough

He can no longer see the stars in Heaven.


	23. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge, fat thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter. You all made my week, even if I was horribly cruel to Javert. <3 Have some fluff to make up for it.

“Papá?”

Valjean drags his thoughts back to the present. It is getting more and more difficult to do, the longer he is away from Javert. It has been nearly a month now, by his estimation (although it is always so hard to tell in Heaven), and he feels the absence as a constant ache in the back of his mind. Cosette is adjusting well to her new surroundings, though, which makes his time here well worthwhile.

“Yes, Cosette?” he says. “Is there something you need?”

“No, Papá. You were drifting again, that’s all.” She smiles at him, but there is worry in her eyes. He feels horrible for putting that look there; he had thought death and the afterlife would erase any need she felt to protect him.

He takes her hands. They are sitting side by side in comfortable armchairs by the window of Fantine’s flat. It is a warm and cozy place, so different from Javert’s sparsely appointed cottage. Fantine and Valjean had added a certain amount of busyness about the place, but now that they are gone Javert must be puttering around aimlessly with nothing but books and a cow to occupy him. Or - perhaps worse - he might be enjoying having the place empty for a change. “I’m sorry, my dear,” Valjean says to Cosette, dragging his thoughts painfully away from his soulmate. “You have my attention now. Is there something you require?”

Cosette squeezes his hands with hers. “No. You just look so sad when your mind wanders.”

Guilt causes his face to flush. It is difficult to remember that she is no longer the young woman he left behind and that she can read his expressions more easily now. A mother’s intuition, a woman’s empathy. “It is difficult to explain.”

“Is it the cottage? The one I first came to when I arrived here?” Is it the man in the cottage, she wonders but does not say. There had been something decidedly more open about her father when he was around that man - Javert? - than any other time, living or dead. What their connection was that could elicit such a change in her father, she dared not guess, though sometimes a suspicion crept into the back of her mind. “Is that where your mind goes when it wanders?”

“It is.”

“But why -”

“Hush,” he tells her soothingly, with just a hint of steel behind the word. “All shall be revealed in due course.”

Cosette might once have been placated (barely) by such an answer, but no longer. “Who is he, Papá? Who is this Javert? Did you know him in life? You never had any acquaintances outside of a few business associates. Was he someone you knew before you adopted me? Was he-”

Valjean jerks his hands out of her tightening grasp, startling her into silence. He did not mean the gesture to be so harsh but at least it had the desired effect. He is breathing heavily, and she now looks close to tears, which just adds to his guilt. “It’s not...” He struggles to make the words come out. “It’s not that I do not wish you to know. I just fear....” Your judgement, your hatred, you disappointment, the worst of all.

Cosette caresses his face with a knowing hand. “There is nothing you can say that will turn me against you. You are my Papá.”

Valjean looks into her eyes, sees the truth within. She genuinely believes what she says. He takes a deep, steadying breath and - starting from the beginning, even though she already knows about his theft and imprisonment - tells her everything.

-

Javert’s knees ache. Everything aches. But right now the pain is focused on his knees where he kneels on the hard ground to slowly pull out some weeds. Every movement is a struggle. He didn’t even know it was possible to feel pain when one is dead. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows it’s not a truly physical pain but a mental one; the anguish of part of your soul going missing. Still, he perseveres, working through the pain.

He has long since lost track of the days. One blends into the next, and he clings to his routine only for the comfort it gives him. Work in the garden progresses, but slowly. He feels impossibly old; he thinks Valjean will not recognise him when he returns.

If he returns.

He cannot let himself think that. He knows in his heart that this separation is just as painful on Valjean as it is on himself. Well, perhaps not quite as painful, seeing how Valjean is still surrounded by people he loves. Javert has Isabelle, but she is far from perfect company, especially since she is so reflective of Javert’s moods. When he is grumpy, so is she.

The pain is so pervasive that he nearly misses the soft, sweet, soundlike presence in the back of his mind. By the time he notices it, Valjean is already coming through the gate.

Javert sits back on his heels to watch his lover’s progress across the garden. Valjean is grinning like a damned fool (and Javert most certainly isn’t doing the same, not at all). And intense feeling of relief washes through Javert, drowning out the pain. He wants to say something calm and sarcastic (“Took you long enough. How long does it take someone to become acquainted with Heaven anyway?”) but at the moment it’s taking every last bit of will not to run and leap into Valjean’s arms.

Fortunately, Valjean has no such restraint. He trots the last several yards nearly bowls over Javert in his excitement. He pulls Javert up from the ground, lifting him off his feet in a nearly crushing hug. Javert missed this, missed his over-exuberance, his puppyish enthusiasm, his incredible strength. He clings to Valjean, not ready to let go, content to stay like this for all eternity. Still, he draws back slightly to capture Valjean’s lips with his own. Perfection.

Valjean shifts them so that Javert’s legs encircle his waist and they are moving, presumably towards the cottage. Their lips never break contact, devouring each other, as Valjean fumbles at the cottage door, trying not to drop Javert. They tumble inside at last and Valjean carries him into the bedroom, depositing him on the bed. He stretches out next to him, holding him close, just breathing him in. Neither of them are aroused - this is a moment too intimate for sex. Nevertheless, Javert wants to be as close to Valjean as possible, so he wriggles out of his clothes and tugs Valjean’s off as well. It’s still not enough. Javert wants to crawl right inside of Valjean’s body so that they are one and may never be parted again.

Eventually their desperate clinging and kissing becomes calmer, more relaxed. They make love gently, Javert taking a long time before entering Valjean’s body. This is as close as they will ever come to being inseparable, and they want this moment to last for all of eternity.

It doesn’t, of course, but even after they are spent, Javert remains inside Valjean, unwilling to let go just yet.

“Did you miss me?” Valjean chuckles but there is a desperate note to his humour.

“Not in the least,” Javert assures him, resting his head against Valjean’s chest. He hesitates before asking, “Did everything work out with Cosette?”

Valjean wraps his arms around Javert and holds him tight. “Yes,” he whispers, the relief clear in his voice. “She was so happy for me when I told her you were my soulmate. I never realised how much she worried about my mental well being when I was alive. She said I was so lonely in life and she’s glad that’s not the case any longer.”

“Even though your soulmate is a man?”

“Doesn’t matter, she said.”

“Even though your soulmate tried to arrest you multiple times?”

Another chuckle rumbles through Valjean’s chest, lifting Javert’s head slightly. “She thought it was pretty amusing, actually. Star-crossed lovers, she called us.”

Javert’s head shoots up indignantly. “She never.”

“I assure you she did.”

Javert rolls off of Valjean, carefully pulling out before flopping down beside him muttering darkly about “not some bloody Romeo and Juliet story.” Valjean only half-listens, amazed at his own good fortune.

They spend the rest of the day in bed, mostly just being as close as possible. Occasionally they talk or make love or doze, but for the most part they are content to just lie there revelling in each other’s presence.


	24. Blue

“What do you suppose happens after?”

“After what?” Javert asks. He is not doing much of anything at the moment, or so it appears. In actuality he is surveying the remaining untouched patches of wilderness in the garden, planning his next move. More than half of the garden is under control now, neatly laid out with flowers and vegetables and fruit and trees; what remains will probably take several more years to adequately manage. It is a long process, but Javert has infinite patience where his work is concerned.

“After we’re done here,” Valjean explains. “When everything is taken care of and nothing is left to be done, what happens then?”

Javert bends down and lifts a clump of soil to test its consistency. “We maintain it, I suppose. Make sure it doesn’t fall into disrepair again.”

“For all eternity,” Valjean says. Javert’s not sure if it’s a question or a statement, but there is a certain bleakness to the way he says it that Javert can sort of understand. Working in the garden has been wonderful in many ways, but to do it for all of eternity? Don’t souls ever get bored in Heaven?

“I suppose,” Javert repeats.

“There must be more to it than just that,” Valjean says, mostly to himself.

Javert drops the soil and regards him carefully, trying to gauge his mood. “Are you discontent?” he asks quietly.

Valjean smiles at him reassuringly. “Of course not, love. There is no one else in the whole world who I could tolerate spending all of eternity with. But...” The smile fades with his words as he stares out into the woods.

“But eternity is such a long time. Forever, in fact,” Javert supplies.

“Yes, quite.”

They are quiet for several long minutes before Javert brushes the remaining dirt off his hands and motions vaguely at Valjean. “Go get the largest shovel, if you would. I think I want to dig up those hydrangeas and bring them closer to the house. I think they might look good lining the pathway, especially if we mix together the colours a bit.”

Valjean does as he is bid, smiling affectionately to himself. Typical Javert practicality. Why worry about tomorrow when you’ve got a problem to deal with today?


	25. Passing

“Marius has passed away.”

****

Javert doesn’t look up from his breakfast.  He is too used to Valjean’s random proclamations about the outside world by now.  Instead he mumbles a halfhearted “Your daughter’s dolt of a husband?”

****

Valjean huffs slightly but does not dispute the description.  “Yes, indeed.”

****

“Hm.  I suppose this means you’ll be going to meet him, see him situated in Heaven, witness the reunion, all of that.”

****

Valjean finishes his breakfast and begins to clear away the dishes.  “It does.  I probably won’t be gone long.”

****

“I shall come with you.”

****

Valjean knows he should not make a big deal of this, but his astonishment overrides his common sense.  “You?  Leave your garden?  To see _Marius_?”

****

Javert clears away his own dishes.  “Yes.  Don’t you agree it’s about time I start getting out of here once in awhile?  Besides, I saved that lawyer’s life.  Might as well make sure he put it to good use.”

****

Still Valjean hesitates.  “It won’t just be Cosette and Fantine, you know.  Marius had friends in life who also wish to reunite with him.”

****

“Yes, I am aware,” Javert snaps.  What had seemed like a good idea - and a pleasant surprise for Valjean, he thought - is quickly turning into a headache.  He has been feeling restless lately and wondered if maybe it was time for him to explore new parts of Heaven, but if he was going to have to fight his lover every step of the way, it doesn’t sound like such a great plan anymore.

****

Valjean lays a soothing hand on Javert’s arm, which Javert, against his own will, can’t help but lean into.  “Good.  I just don’t want you to move too fast.  But if you feel you are up to it...”

****

Javert closes his eyes.  He cannot let Valjean’s doubt weigh down his heart if he is going to do this.  “I am.”

****

They take their time getting ready to leave.  There is no need to hurry, though Javert begins to feel impatient when he realises Valjean is trying to give him ample time to change his mind.  By the time they depart, Javert half wishes he had never decided to do this, which just strengthens his resolve to go through with it.  When they depart, Javert makes sure he is the first one through the gate.

****

Heaven is everything he expected and more.  The path they walk down is a soft country lane, with several cottages and woods similar to their own off in the distance.  Everything is green and lush and perfect.  Most of these areas are guarded, like his own, by vegetation or trees.  Some are silent, others are jam-packed with shouting children and barking dogs and a variety of other sounds.  Gradually the landscape changes into something of a city.  Here there are houses and mansions atop hills, or flats stacked on top of each other.  There are bakeries and libraries and barber shops, remnants of lives no longer lived but still loved.  Souls roam everywhere here, speaking a dizzying variety of languages, yet Javert can understand them all.

****

Valjean leads him through the streets to a cafe that is so strikingly familiar, it makes Javert’s gut churn.  An enormous barricade stands before it, one that is either half assembled or half dismantled, he cannot tell which.  It is twenty, thirty times the size of the one the schoolboys hid behind during their ill-fated revolution.  “Ridiculous,” Javert mutters.  “Some people just don’t know how to let go.”

****

Valjean lets out a disbelieving snort.  “This coming from you?”

****

“You don’t see me living in a police station, do you?” Javert rejoins.

****

“I see your point.”

****

“Papa!”

****

Cosette is waving to them from the cafe’s doorway.  They pick their way over the low part of the barricade and go to her.  Valjean greets her and kisses her cheek while Javert bows politely, his eyes scanning the area for Fantine.

****

“Mama is inside with some of the others,” Cosette informs them.  “Marius has not quite arrived yet.  I’m not sure what the delay is.”  Her hands fidget restlessly at her sides; she is eager to see her husband again after their premature separation.  Valjean takes her arm and draws her away, attempting to soothe her nerves, effectively leaving Javert on his own.

****

He wanders inside the cafe, at first intent on going straight to Fantine for company, but when he sees the inside he is overcome with curiosity.  The outside of the building looks like a normal cafe, but the inside is far larger than the outside indicates.  There are halls and doors leading in every direction.  Most of the doors are shut, and have plaques on them indicating what is inside or to whom the room belongs.  A couple of them stand open, and Javert pokes his head in quietly, not wanting to be accused of snooping should he be caught.

****

The first room he looks in is a library larger than his entire cottage.  Or at least he assumes it must be a library, given the stacks upon stacks of books that litter the floor.  All different sizes and shapes and colours, yet none of them bear any titles or markings to indicate what may be found inside.  The walls of the room are lined floor to ceiling (and it is a high ceiling, twice the height of a normal room) with bookshelves, only half of which bear any books.  In the middle of the room, amidst the books, sits a young man, one of the ones Javert does not know by name - though the plaque on the door indicates that this must be Combeferre.  His nose is buried deep in a book and he doesn’t even notice Javert standing there watching him.

****

Shaking his head, Javert eases back out of the room.  If that boy’s Heavenly duty requires him to read every book in that room and categorise it into a functional library, Javert does not envy him that task.  He’ll take grubbing around in the garden any day over the endless tedium of reading book after book.  He turns around, intent on heading back to the main part of the cafe, and finds himself face to face with the blond leader of the revolutionaries, Enjolras.

****

“What are you doing?” he demands.

****

Javert does not let his tone bother him.  Perhaps in this shared Heaven, Enjolras alone does not have the power to kick him out - perhaps he needs to have a majority vote or even a unanimous one.  Obviously, if it were in Enjolras’ ability, Javert wouldn’t have even stepped foot inside the cafe.  “I am here to greet the newly departed,” Javert informs him.  “We were acquainted in life.”  Sort of.

****

Enjolras glowers at him.  “Yes, I’ve been informed about that.”  He indicates the library.  “I meant, what were you doing in there?  Don’t disturb Combeferre when he is working.”

****

“I wasn’t,” Javert says.

****

The glare directed at him informs Javert that Enjolras doesn’t believe him for a second.  “See that you don’t,” is all he says before pushing past Javert, “accidentally” shoving into his shoulder hard enough that Javert would have lost his balance had he not be expecting something of the sort.

****

Back in the main part of the cafe, Javert finds Fantine chatting with a couple of the schoolboys Javert does not know.  The mood out here is festive and inviting.  Although everyone recognises Javert as the traitor spy, no one beyond Enjolras seems to hold it against him.  He even manages to make several of them laugh when Enjolras’ constant glowering prompts him to mutter loud enough for everyone to hear, “I thought people in Heaven were supposed to be _happy_.”

****

“Don’t mind him,” the boy Courfeyrac says, passing Javert a glass of wine.  “He doesn’t let go of things easily.”

****

“I’ve noticed,” Javert replies dryly.

****

Eventually Marius does show up, but Javert misses his arrival because he is engrossed in a very competitive game of cards with Courfeyrac, Bossuet, and Grantaire.  There is much back-patting and embracing and teasing because Marius is sporting a hideous caterpillar of a moustache across his upper lip.  Grantaire collapses into fits of giggles when he sees it, much to Marius’ chagrin.  Any harsh feelings are waylaid, however, when Grantaire pulls out his best wine and spirits to celebrate the reunion with their last comrade.

****

Even Javert and Valjean partake, though Javert is a little more liberal with the spirits than his lover.  Combeferre is eventually unearthed from his library to join the others in celebration, and Javert gets a stomach-lurching shock when he sees Combeferre and Enjolras standing near each other.  They aren’t talking or touching each other, but there is...something in the air between the two and instinctively Javert just knows that they are soulmates.  There isn’t anything sexual between them that he can see (indeed if the way Grantaire and Enjolras’s eyes are constantly on each other is any indication, it is they who are lovers), but there is an undeniable, if ineffable, connection between the two.  He wonders if the others can see a similar connection between himself and Valjean, and the thought makes him uncomfortable enough that he gulps down half a glass of wine in two swallows.

****

By the time the celebration begins to wind down and Valjean and Javert start to make their excuses, Javert is swaying dangerously.  Valjean leads him carefully away from the cafe, keeping one hand on his arm the whole time to make sure he does not fall over.  Javert tries to act offended, but mostly he is grateful that Valjean is there to catch him when he stumbles over an uneven bit of ground.  Or maybe it was his own feet - it’s difficult to tell.

****

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Valjean asks, half mocking half genuinely curious.

****

Javert blinks at him, shocked to realise that he did, in fact, have fun.  “I suppose a little,” he admits grudgingly.  Valjean laughs and loops an arm around Javert’s waist, drawing him in close.  Part of Javert wants to protest, but most of him is just enjoying the warmth and strength of his embrace.

 


	26. Outsides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends, I am back. Tbh I wasn't going to write this chapter just yet but I'm at work and I forgot my book so I said, "hmmm let's read the last chapter and...oh yeah I can totally write this." So it's a bit short I guess (actually 717 words is more than I expected so I'm really happy at how it turned out), but it always was going to be a short chapter anyway. Hm, maybe I will keep writing until it is finished....just two more chapters.

Javert begins to leave the garden more often after that first evening.  Sometimes he will inform Valjean where he is going, but only if it is inevitable.  It’s not that he desires to keep secrets from his lover (especially after all the fuss he made about Valjean keeping secrets from him) but he knows that if he does tell Valjean where he is going and what he is doing, Valjean will just want to come along with him and worry.  And if Javert insists that he go out alone, Valjean will instead sit at home and worry.  So Javert will wait until Valjean is deep in the woods or engrossed with some project at home, and simply walks out the gate as if it is not a big deal.  When he comes home a short time later (he always makes sure it’s no more than a few hours) he casually mentions his time outside, always careful to make his remarks nonchalant and secondary to some other update about his day.  “One of the chickens is limping, I’m not sure why, and oh yes I went ‘round to Fantine’s today for tea.  Marius was there, unfortunately.  How are you getting along with that addition to the cowshed?”

 

In truth, he usually does not do much when he is outside.  He will mostly wander down random paths to see where they lead.  Yet, no matter how much he wanders or how far he goes, he always ends up back at his own garden just as he is beginning to weary.  There are some times when he goes to visit Fantine.  They are still close friends, and there is still a spark of attraction between them, but they both know they are beyond the carnal part of their friendship.  Still, it is nice to enjoy her company alone.

 

But the real reason Javert does not want Valjean along on his trips is the rare times he goes to visit the Revolutionaries.  It is not that he is ashamed, exactly, but more that he steadfastly refuses to acknowledge that he has become fond of a couple of them.  Grantaire enjoys Javert’s dry wit, particularly where Enjolras is concerned, and Javert in turn enjoys Grantaire’s abject cynicism.  Other times Javert will sit with Combeferre and discuss anything and everything under the sun.  The young man is exceedingly more learned (Javert assumes at first this is because of all the reading he does in the afterlife, but he soon discovers that Combeferre was just as intelligent in life) than Javert, but Javert has sheer stubbornness on his side.  Combeferre is too even-tempered to ever get truly riled, even when they are discussing politics.

 

Eventually, inevitably, Valjean discovers Javert’s secret.  He does not make a big deal out of it, much to Javert’s relief.  Nor does he insist on accompanying Javert, another blessing.  The work in the garden, while not exactly neglected, becomes extended.  Javert feels a certain inexplicable reluctance to finish.  As if somehow once he is done, he will be done forever.  It is a crushing thought, one he does not allow much time to flourish in his mind.  There are some times, however, that it will come sneaking up on him and he will stop whatever he is doing at the time and stare into the distance until he has his feelings under control again.

 

Valjean comes upon him during one such time and wraps his arms around him, sensing his distress.  “What is it, love?” he whispers into Javert’s hair.

 

“I am afraid,” he says haltingly, “that we do not have much time left here.”  It is the first time he has said it out loud - indeed the first time he has been able to put a definition to the formless, choking sense of panic he has been feeling off and on for weeks.  As soon as he says it, he feels instant relief.

 

Valjean nuzzles into him.  “It’s Heaven, my dear.  We have all of eternity.”

 

Javert does not argue with him because of course what he says makes sense.  This is the afterlife, and that means for all time.  Eternity.  Valjean must be right, and Javert clearly is still too paranoid for his own good.

 

They will soon find out that is not the case at all.

 


	27. Sixth Sense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't forgotten about this fic! Gosh this chapter was a struggle, but I worked diligently on it for over a week and I'm happy with how it turned out. Just one more to go! I'm going to be on vacation for the next 2 1/2 weeks so maybe I'll have some time to work on the last chapter then.

Javert has been feeling restless for days.  He will begin one task only to set it down and start something else entirely.  Valjean does not comment on this uncharacteristic behaviour, but it worries him.  Work on the garden comes to a stuttering, stumbling halt.  Even though Javert does not venture past his gate anymore, he completes nothing he sets out to do within its boundaries.  Weeds begin popping up, vines run rampant, and many of the flowering bushes start to wither.

 

After a week, Valjean can stand it no longer.  He decides to broach the subject as delicately as possible, but he braces himself for a fight.  Nothing makes Javert more sensitive and snippy than talking about his feelings, especially when he is already jumpy and skittish.  Having made up his mind, and feeling much calmer for it, Valjean sets about making dinner.

 

Not long after, Javert wanders in.  He is dirty and his clothes are mussed, hair stringy from where he ran his fingers through it several times throughout the course of the day.  Even his beard, normally trim and proper, looks ragged, and his eyes radiate exhaustion as though he has not slept in days.  Valjean’s heart aches to see him like this.  Javert takes no notice of his lover, heading straight for the waiting bath.  Yet he does not undress and step in - he dips his hand in as though testing the temperature and swishes it around a bit before wandering off again.  Like he has forgotten what the bath is for.  Valjean moves the stew he was cooking to a cooler part of the fire to allow it to simmer before he follows Javert into the bedroom.

 

Javert does not notice Valjean until he is directly behind him.  He startles a little but quickly relaxes into his lover’s arms.  Valjean nuzzles his nose into Javert’s hair, ignoring the slick, greasy feel.  He lets out a long, deep sigh.

 

“I put some stew on to cook,” Valjean says.

 

It takes several moments for Javert to hear the words and even longer for him to understand what they mean.  “Stew,” he repeats uncomprehendingly.  The sound of his own voice seems to jolt him from his stupor and the light comes back into his eyes as he returns to the here and now.  “Good.  Those potatoes won’t last much longer.  Did you use all of them?”

 

Valjean holds him closer, wishing he could hold him so close that he would forget all the worries plaguing his mind and go back to the way he was.  Valjean would even take the spit and vitriol of their original acquaintance over this lost thoughtfulness.  At least with the bitter contention, Valjean knew that Javert was focusing on him.  Now, he feels like he is losing him, and the worst part is not knowing what he is losing him to.  “Yes, love.  I also used up all the carrots.”

 

“Alright.”  Javert’s eyes are glazing over again, and Valjean wants to scream with frustration.  He bites back on the urge, moving instead to sit on the edge of the bed.  Javert glances at him, but does not seem to register anything beyond the fact that Valjean has moved.

 

“Has something happened?” Valjean asks abruptly.

 

Javert turns away from the window to face him, but it is clear from his expression that he has no idea what Valjean is talking about.  “Happened?” he repeats, and this time there is more force behind his voice, probably brought on by Valjean’s confrontational tone.  If vinegared words are what it will take to get him talking, Valjean can gladly oblige though he wishes he didn’t have to.

 

“Yes, happened.  You have been moody and distant, even with Isabelle.  It can’t be anything I have done, at least not to my knowledge, so perhaps something happened elsewhere.  With the boys?  Or Fantine?”  His voice falters at the thought.  It hadn’t occurred to him until he voiced it, and the idea that something had happened to Fantine and Javert hadn’t told him hurt him in too many ways to count.

 

Javert, however, merely shakes his head, a bit sadly.  “I don’t know,” he says quietly.

 

This time it is Valjean who is shaken from his thoughts.  “What?”

 

“I don’t know what is wrong,” Javert says, louder this time.  “Something has happened, but I have no idea what.  It’s just a...sense that I have.  Don’t you feel it too?”  He looks genuinely puzzled, with good reason.  Valjean is normally the one attuned to the goings-on outside of their shared Heaven.  For Javert to know something - or at least sense something - that Valjean doesn’t... It’s a new experience for both of them, one neither is sure he likes.

 

Valjean shakes his head slowly, eyes never leaving Javert’s tense frame.  “A sense...like a presence? One that shouldn’t be here, maybe?”  Does God even make those sorts of mistakes?

 

Javert thinks about it carefully.  “No...more like an absence.  Someone who was here is just...gone,” he says.  Fear floods Valjean’s body at the words and it must show in his face because Javert snaps out of his thoughts and hastens to reassure him, “Not Fantine.  Not Cosette or the lawyer either, I don’t think.  But someone we know.”

 

Which leaves the young men from the barricade.  Valjean’s first thought is of the skeptical drunkard Grantaire.  If anyone seems out of place in Heaven it is that boy with his doleful eyes and quick, caustic wit.  But if he is no longer here, then...  “Where do you suppose...?” Valjean cannot bear to finish the sentence.

 

Javert finally leaves the window and sits next to him on the bed.  “I don’t know,” he says firmly.  He doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to remember that time he spent in Hell.  It feels like an eternity ago yet the memories are still fresh  and come readily to the foreground of his mind with the right stimulation.

 

Rather than pressing the issue, Valjean gathers Javert into his arms, holding him close.  They stay like that for long minutes, until Javert’s breathing deepens and Valjean is certain he fell asleep.  Yet a moment later, his muffled voice comes from somewhere in the vicinity of Valjean’s armit.  “Jean?”

 

“Hmmmm?”

 

Javert emerges his face from the folds of Valjean’s shirt so that his voice isn’t muffled.  “Those carrots have probably turned to mush by now.”

 

Valjean is torn between laughing and smacking his lover so he settles for doing both.  They rise at the same time and head out to the kitchen to serve up dinner.  Nothing more is said of Javert’s weird lapses, and indeed he seems more alert than he has in weeks.  Still, Valjean silently vows that first thing in the morning he will drag Javert out to visit the boys, kicking and screaming if he must.

 

-

 

Fortunately it turns out there is little screaming and only one or two kicks involved.  It’s better than Valjean ever could have hoped for.  Javert even starts their journey with full, albeit grim, cooperation.  As they draw closer to the barricade, however, his determination begins to waver.  He glances back frequently, longing to return to the safety of their garden.  Whatever answers lie ahead of them, he dreads it in the very essence of his soul.  If one person can disappear from Heaven, anyone could.  He could.  Or, God forbid, Valjean could.  Could it be possible that one morning he might wake up to discover Jean is nowhere to be found?  The thought makes him dizzy to contemplate so he shoves it aside and forces himself to continue forward.  Whatever the answer will be, he can’t not know.  It is not in his nature to leave a question unanswered.

 

The barricade is more than halfway deconstructed by now.  Neither Valjean nor Javert know exactly who is working on it, though they’re pretty sure Enjolras is.  Whether or not he has help from any of his friends, however, they do not know and they do not ask.  It brings too many raw feelings to the surface, even after all these decades (when Javert does the maths he realises it’s more like centuries by now - not many, but at least two have passed and that is a thought that gives him pause).  It may be Enjolras working on his own, or it may be a joint effort between all the young revolutionaries, though Javert suspects it is the former.

 

When they approach, Valjean is relieved to see Grantaire sitting on a stool at the base of the barricade, swigging pleasantly from a dark bottle.  Javert, however, finds that his apprehension only increases.  If not him, then who?

 

Grantaire spies them and raises the bottle in a mocking salute.  “Was wondering when you’d stop by,” he calls out.  “I take it you heard the news?”

 

Javert and Valjean exchange uneasy glances as they change course to approach him.  “What news?” Javert asks.

 

“Joly is gone.  He’s ‘moved on’ to some bigger and better place.”  He takes another drink from his bottle.  “At least it better be better,” he murmurs darkly.

 

“You don’t know where he’s gone to?” Javert asks, falling all too easily back into investigative mode.

 

“Nope.  It’s that damn library he and Combeferre were working on.”

 

“What about it?”

 

Grantaire peers up at them through bloodshot eyes.  How that is even possible, Javert can not begin to fathom since the dead have no use for blood, in their eyes or otherwise.  “They finished it.  All the books in their place, all the information memorised, filed, and catalogued; I think they know more than God himself now.  Finished a couple weeks ago.  So then this lady comes up to us saying she needs to speak to them.  They go off and have a nice long chat and when they come back, Joly announces he’s ‘moving on’ whatever the fuck that means.”

 

“And Combeferre?”

 

“Decided to defer, I guess.”

 

Valjean says, “You can do that?”

 

Grantaire shrugs.  “Apparently?  He said he may have finished what he was supposed to do here in Heaven - if this even really is Heaven - but what he is meant to do is far from over.”

 

“What does that mean?” Javert asks.

 

Another shrug.  “Pro’ly that he wants to keep an eye on Enjolras for a while longer.  They’re soulmates, you know.”  There is no bitterness in his voice, only hard-achieved acceptance of the fact that no matter how close he and Enjolras become as lovers, there will always be that unattainable connection to someone else.  “So he’s sticking around, but who knows for how much longer?  It’s driving him mad not to have any real purpose anymore.  He helps out with other people’s stuff, but...”  Grantaire gestures vaguely at nothing.

 

Javert feels a stab of panic.  He has known what he task is all along and has performed it admirably well, but as far as they know, Valjean never had any Heavenly purpose.  What will happen if Javert finishes before Valjean even begins his?  Has Javert been holding him back all this time?

 

Grantaire offers him the bottle.  “Looks like you could use some,” he says, not unkindly.

 

Javert accepts, drinking absentmindedly until Valjean gently takes it away from him.  “I think we ought to get going,” Valjean says.  There is no reproach in his voice, just kind understanding that seems almost unbearable.

 

Grantaire frowns a little.  “You just got here.”  Understanding dawns through his drunken haze.  “Ah, you were just looking for answers, which I provided without even realising it.  Use me and abuse me,” he says in a voice that is mockingly self-deprecating.  “That’s my lot in life.  Well, afterlife.”

 

They glance at each other.  The polite thing would be to stick around and say hello to everyone, but this new information has both of them on edge, even more so than before.  They need to get home so they can talk about what this means for them.

 

“We’re so sorry, Grantaire,” Valjean says.  “For your loss and your friends’ loss.  How is Bossuet holding up?”

 

“He’s fine.  Musichetta and he have been comforting each other since it happened.  If you know what I mean.”  Grantaire sighs, the sarcasm dropping away for a moment.  “We all miss him like crazy but it’s weird.  It’s like we all know our time here is almost up.  Some of us feel it more strongly than others.  Joly thinks - thought? - no, thinks that we’ll find each other again, even though he has no idea where he was going.  For all we know, he finally reached pure oblivion.”

 

“Or maybe this isn’t the real Heaven after all,” Valjean muses.  “Maybe he is truly with God now.”

 

It is a nice thought, but not one Grantaire is readily willing to buy without some sort of proof, if the look on his face is anything to go by.  Always the skeptic.

 

It feels churlish to leave right after receiving this information, but staying to make small talk with the young men also feels somehow disrespectful.  Valjean and Javert exchange weighted looks - they have a lot to discuss.  They bid Grantaire farewell, wave to the others within eyesight, and head back for their garden.  They walk in silence, the unspoken words resting heavily on their shoulders.  Once or twice Javert thinks he ought to say something, to at least relieve themselves of a little of this burden, but he keeps silent; this sort of discussion is best left to the privacy of their own home.

 

They stay quiet all the way to the front door of the cottage and beyond.  Valjean heads straight for the bedroom, lost in his thoughts.  Javert follows, unsure if his presence will be welcome.  Perhaps Valjean still needs time to process everything.  His doubts are waylaid, however, when Valjean suddenly rounds on him and sweeps him into a tight, crushing embrace.  Javert returns it, laying his head on Valjean’s shoulder and breathing deeply as though he can somehow breathe Valjean into his very soul.

 

“Your time here is almost up,” Valjean whispers.

 

Javert shakes his head as best he can while not removing it from its resting place.  “I can postpone it as long as is necessary.  For ever if need be.”

 

“You would go mad staying here with nothing to do.  When the time comes, you must leave.”

 

“Whatever madness comes would be nothing to what I would feel to be separated from you,” Javert says.  He turns his head away; even after all this time, it is still easier to admit these things when he is not looking Valjean in the eye.  Or in the neck, in this case.

 

“We may not be separated for that long,” Valjean says.

 

“You don’t even know what your duty here is,” Javert protests.

 

Valjean’s silence speaks for him.  He has said often how his duty in Heaven - if this truly is Heaven - is to take care of Javert, and until now Javert always assumed it was a joke.  He realises he may have been mistaken.  Valjean’s embrace becomes tighter still, though Javert would not have thought it possible.

 

Maybe Valjean is right, but maybe he is wrong about his Heavenly purpose.  Javert does not want to think about it.  He shifts his head back around so that he can press kisses along Valjean’s throat.  They don’t have much time left, relatively speaking.  But even ten years can feel like the blink of an eye in Heaven.  They might as well make the most of it.  Valjean goes along with it, grateful for the distraction, though there is no doubt he will broach the subject again at the earliest possible convenience.  Javert plans to make sure it does not become convenient for as long as possible.

 

Valjean’s hands deftly divest Javert of his clothes.  After all this time, they know each other well.  Javert returns the favour, drawing Valjean close again to feel the press of flesh against flesh, hair rubbing against hair.  They are silent but for the quickening of their breath.

 

They take their time.  They stand by the bedroom window for ages, just kissing and caressing, no particular hurry to their arousal.  They move to the bed eventually, where again they slowly tease and explore.  After countless hours, months, centuries, Javert enters Valjean and begins a stuttering, lethargic pace.  It feels like getting to know each other all over again.  It feels like hello.

 

It feels like goodbye.

 


	28. The End and a Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Throws everything out the window, including self*

There is no official end to Javert’s work.  There is no single last weed to pluck or bush to trim that he can finish and say ‘and now my work here is complete.’  New weeds grow every day, new leaves bloom, flowers flourish.

 

Yet both Javert and Valjean can feel in their bones that work in the garden is coming to a quick finish.  It has been a few months now since Grantaire told them about Joly’s departure and in that time even more of the revolutionaries have left.  Feuilly, Bossuet, little Gavroche.  Comferre.  Apparently hanging around Heaven after finishing with the library had been more taxing than he had anticipated.  He claimed he could feel his soul withering, that he knew he did not belong here.  So he took his leave.  That, somehow, had been more difficult for Javert to hear than when they first found out about Joly leaving.  The unspoken plan had been for Javert to finish his work in the garden and then - if need be - wait around for Valjean’s time to be up, too.  Wherever they went next, they would go together.  Hearing about Comferre’s plight, however, Valjean balked.  Under no circumstances would he force Javert into that sort of predicament.  When it came for Javert’s time to move on, he would do so with or without Valjean.  Javert protested, but Valjean was intractable.

 

“We shall find each other again,” Valjean assured him.  “May it take a year or fifty, I will always find you again.”

 

What Valjean does not mention is the way he can already feel his own soul chafing.  His work here (Javert may scoff but Valjean knew in his very being what task he was meant to do) has been coming to a close for a while now, and he just needs Javert to come to his senses and stop dawdling.

 

And then finally, one day, Javert enters the cottage around midday looking uncertain and wary.  “It’s finished,” he says unnecessarily.  “There is nothing more I can do that would not be simple maintenance.  That garden is as perfect as Eden itself.”

 

Whatever Valjean had been expecting (even he is not entirely sure - Heavenly choir and light or a deafening clap of thunder perhaps) does not occur.  Javert looks around, apparently also expecting some grand signal that his time in this place has ended.  When nothing happens, he shrugs out of his sweaty shirt.

 

“I am going to bathe.”  He arches an eyebrow at Valjean.  “Care to join me?”

 

Valjean complies after only a moment’s hesitation.

 

A day passes, two.  A week.  There is no lady come to tell them what happens next.  Grantaire, who had been present for each of his friends’ passings, reported a beautiful lady would come to talk to the person before they announced it was time for them to leave.  Always the same lady, always appearing in the same outfit and with the same perfect hair.  Grantaire referred to her as Aphrodite, though Valjean wonders if Hermes wouldn’t be more appropriate.  God’s messenger.

 

Or maybe she is actually God.  It would not be the strangest thing he has witnessed in this strange sort of Heaven.

 

“Perhaps this is our punishment for buggering,” Javert ventures one day with a wry twist of his lips.  “Flounder on the edge of the unknown for the rest of time.”  They are working together to wrestle a large hedge back into submission.  A recent storm - rare but not unheard of in their little corner of Heaven - had partially uprooted it and left it looking rather shoddy indeed.  Together Valjean and Javert manage to get it more or less upright again, and now Javert is circling it, snipping here and there with a large pair of shears to get it into decent shape.

 

“Not the worst punishment I could think of,” Valjean says.  “Since we are still together to continue buggering.”

 

Javert snorts.  “How very romantic of you.”

 

“ _I have not forgotten about you_.”

 

Whatever Valjean had been about to reply is cut off by the sound of this new voice.  He peers arounds the branch he is holding in place and there she is, just as Grantaire described her: tall, curvy, swarthy, hair cascading down her back in gleaming waves.  She wears a simple dress cinched around her waist, but there is something not-quite-there about it, as though it is made of something more intangible than anything else in the afterlife.  They can see right through it or perhaps they just want to see through it, to take in her full glory.  There is nothing shameful about her body; Valjean and Javert both can feel themselves respond to it with almost childlike wonder and delight.  They are speechless.

 

“My children,” She says and somehow they just _know_.  Yes, they are Her children.  Her creations.  Whatever She says, wherever She goes, they will follow.  They will do as bid.

 

“God,” Valjean breathes and even he does not know if it is acknowledgement or prayer or both.  Javert cannot make his mouth work properly.  He starts to bow deeply but somehow it is not enough; he sinks to his knees before Her, all but prostrate on the ground.

 

“Stand up, Javert,” She says.  It is more than a suggestion but not quite a command.  Javert hastens to obey.  He is trembling; they both are.

 

Valjean gives a belated, shaky bow.  “How may we serve you, my Lady?”

 

“I think the correct question here, Jean, is how may I serve _you_?”  She reaches forward and cups one hand around his cheek.  An indescribable feeling suffuses his whole body, radiating from where Her skin - if it can even be called skin - touches his.  With Her other hand, She takes hold of Javert.

 

“What do you mean?” Valjean asks.

 

Her hands drop to her sides, leaving both men feeling like they have been teetering on the edge of ultimate knowledge only to be thrust back by an unseen force.  God does not seem to notice, surveying the area around her.  “You did a wonderful job, Javert.  I am proud of you.  My poor fallen angel.”

 

Javert flushes but does not say anything, still struck dumb by Her presence.  Valjean slips a hand into one of his, squeezing, reassuring.  Javert squeezes back.

 

“When you took your own life, I thought that would be the end of the both of you.  One cannot survive without the other and there is no salvation for those in Hell.  But Valjean petitioned for your soul.”  She smiles at Valjean but there is something almost dangerous about that smile.  “How could I deny such a pretty request?  And you,” She says, turning Her attention back to Javert.  “All this long time, so many reincarnations, and you still manage to surprise me.”

 

Javert wants to protest.  Reincarnations?  He has never been anyone but Javert.  It is on the tip of his tongue to contradict Her but suddenly She surges forward to grip his face with both hands.  Valjean makes an aborted move to stop Her but She is too quick.  Javert gasps, his eyes rolling in his head.  There is nothing malicious in Her bearing nor Her face, but whatever She is doing to Javert is not pleasant.

 

At last She releases him, and his unseeing eyes find Valjean’s face.  “Patroclus,” he whispers.

 

“One of many identities he has had,” God tells Javert.  Valjean frowns, realising she is speaking about him.  “And one of many yet to come.”

 

“No,” Javert says.  He is beginning to come back to himself, and a defiant light shows in his eyes.

 

“No?” God repeats.  There is no condemnation in Her voice, only amusement.

 

“No.  We have a choice in this.  We can choose not to be reincarnated.  We can stay here in Heaven.”

 

“Well, of course you can.  That is the meaning of ‘free will,’” She says.

 

“Then no more.  Do you know what She means to do to us?” This directed at Valjean.  “She will send us back into that madhouse She calls Earth.  Life.  We are born, we suffer, we die, and for what?  A few years respite in Heaven only to be tossed back down.”  There is anger in his voice, as well as fear and exhaustion.

 

“You may stay here as long as you like, Javert,” God says.  “For the rest of eternity, if you so choose.”

 

Javert considers Her, wondering if there is some sort of trap.  But Valjean already knows - they have already seen what happens to someone who overstays their welcome in Heaven.  “We won’t be happy if we do, though.  Will we?”

 

God spreads Her hands in what amounts to a celestial shrug.  “You may be.  Together, you two can always manage to find happiness, I believe.  But your souls will wither.  Humanity is not made for eternal happiness and salvation.  It took me a long time to figure that out.  Too much enjoyment with not enough strife - it may sound tempting but in the end you will long for something more.  Sooner or later even those souls who choose to stay behind reconsider their choice.”

 

Valjean catches Javert’s eye.  Whatever Javert chooses, Valjean will follow.  Javert’s lips twist unhappily; he knows what he will say, but first he must know….

 

“Will we be together in our next life?”

 

Another shrug.  “Who is to say?  You two usually manage to find each other one way or another.  Occasionally - rarely - there have been times you live your whole lives never knowing each other.  Yet you always find each other here in the end.”

 

Valjean and Javert stare at each other.  Is there really any choice?  They are still holding hands, but suddenly that is not enough; they embrace, holding each other tight.  This is goodbye, yes...but not for ever.  Valjean knows he can live with that.  Javert is less certain, but he is willing to give it a go.  They part.

 

“We are ready,” Valjean says.

 

“I had a feeling you might say that.”

 

For one long moment, it feels like they know everything.  Then, all at once, they know nothing.  Oblivion.

  
  


~~~

 

Epilogue:

 

“Hey!  Someone get that kid outta here!”

 

Detective Sergeant Lestrade looked up from the body he is examining.  That kid was back, the one with the mussy dark hair and drugged eyes.  He kept turning up at crime scenes; Gregson was half convinced the kid was the murderer, but Lestrade wasn’t so sure.  There was...something.  He stood up, ready to deal with this himself since clearly no one else had managed to persuade the little idiot to stay away.

 

“You wanna get out of here, son.  Before I let my friend over there lock you up.  He’s been dying to since the first time you came ‘round here.”

 

The kid’s eyes flashed and there was that...something again.  Something deep, instinctual.  “He did lock me up,” the kid answered, rubbing his wrists where the memory of handcuffs still bit.

 

“Then I imagine you don’t want to experience it again,” Lestrade said.  “Go on.”

 

“You need me, though.”

 

“I doubt it.”

 

“You do.  I know who did it.”

 

“I bet.”

 

“I do.  Listen, I’ll tell you a name, okay?  And you’ll not believe me but you’ll go check him out anyway.  And you’ll realise I’m right.  And then you’ll see.”  The kid lifted his chin, defiant.  “I dare you.”

 

Lestrade sighed.  He might humour the kid.  Just this once.  If he was wrong, it would be justification for booting him off any future crime scenes he showed up at.  He took out a pen and slip of paper.  “Okay, what’s the name?”

 

“Barnes.  Stephen Barnes.”

 

“Yeah, got it.  And your name?”

 

A moment’s hesitation.  Then, “Sherlock Holmes.”

 

Lestrade didn’t write that name down.  Somehow it didn’t seem like the sort of name he would forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone who encouraged me, beta'd for me, put up with my tantrums, and helped me out when the whole LM fandom blew up in my face, causing me serious distress and anxiety. This includes but is not limited to: Chesh, Maratee, Jessica, Lynn, Jules, my reviewers, and most especially Javert and Valjean themselves.


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